


Canon

by starbuckmeggie



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Love, Post-Series, Romance, Santos Administration, relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-03-26 17:27:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19010431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbuckmeggie/pseuds/starbuckmeggie
Summary: Another moment in the life of Josh and Donna, set almost two years post-series*PLEASE NOTE: CHAPTER 3 IS THE NEW CHAPTER. I AM AN IDIOT AND FORGOT TO POST IT THE FIRST TIME AROUND. YOU'VE LIKELY ALREADY READ CHAPTERS 1, 2, 4, & 5*





	1. Chapter 1

“I’m so full,” Josh whines as we push open the restaurant door, and he leans his full weight against me, almost toppling me sideways.

I grab onto him for a few moments, more to steady myself than anything else, before giving him a little shove, trying to get him upright. “Whose fault is that?”

He moans and slumps against me again, making a big production—someone’s bucking for an Oscar. “So full,” he complains, rubbing his stomach for good measure.

“Such a drama queen,” I tell him. “You’re such a faker.”

“I’m not faking anything. This is real pain. What do you know from faking?” I look at him, lifting an eyebrow, and he cringes. “Don’t answer that.”

“I don’t fake it with you. You know that.”

“So you’ve said,” he answers, eyeing me suspiciously, “but I feel like I can’t trust you when you say things like that.”

“I keep telling you—you’re magnificent in bed,” I say casually, my voice purposely louder than usual.

“Donna!” he exclaims, glancing around at his security detail, looking somewhere between mortified and smug. I can see Troy’s cheek twitch ever so slightly as he tries not to smile—he thoroughly enjoys when I embarrass Josh—but no one else seems to notice, their eyes going everywhere as they try to keep Josh, and by extension me, safe.

“I mean, you’re such a stallion,” I continue, trying my best to keep my face straight. “No one else makes me moan the way you do, or grab at the headboard like it’s the only thing tethering me to this plane of existence.”

He gapes at me even as we keep walking down the sidewalk. I can tell there’s a small part of him that wants to strut—any time I talk about his prowess, he gets a gleam in his eye and prances around like an insufferable peacock—but when I make public comments, he turns into a shy Victorian-era virgin, horrified that anyone knows that we have sex. It’s actually wildly entertaining. A few moments later, he eyes me suspiciously. “Hey—what are you doing using present tense like that?”

“What do you mean?” I ask innocently.

He stops abruptly and I only get a couple of steps away before I’m jerked back, my arm having unconsciously threaded through his at some point. “You just said I’m the only one who ‘makes’ you moan. Present tense. Shouldn’t that be, you know, past tense?”

I can’t help but laugh at his distraught expression. “I think you’re reading too much into that, Josh.”

“Like hell.”

“You think I’m cheating on you? In all the spare time I have?”

“That’s the only reason stopping you from straying—lack of time?”

Okay—he’s starting to look genuinely panicked. Time to stop screwing with him. I untangle my arm from his only to grab his hands. “Well, that, and the whole love of my life thing you’ve got going on.”

Poor man; he still looks way too concerned about this. “Really?”

“Really, Josh. Love of my life. Probably the love of my next life, too. The thought of being with another man…” I trail off, letting myself consider it for a few moments before I shudder a little. It’s not a good thought. I really like monogamy, actually. One would think it’d get boring and routine, and maybe one day it will, but at the moment, it’s still amazing. My only other foray into extreme monogamy was with Kyle, or Dr. Freeride as Josh so affectionately calls him, and…it wasn’t great. Hindsight and all that, of course, but during our five-ish years together, our sex life was mediocre. Most of the time it was just okay, once in a while it was good, and toward the end, well…I’d start mentally reciting state capitals in alphabetical order to keep myself entertained. I didn’t entirely realize it at the time, but I was only nineteen the first time we slept together and my experience to that point wasn’t terribly extensive. My basis of comparison was small. Fortunately, I had great sex a few times after him and with Josh…I’ve never experienced a more powerful, joyful expression of happiness and love in my life. So, really, just the idea of downgrading and trying to be with someone else nauseates me to the extreme.

“Well, it’s not a thought I want to entertain. I’m very happy with our sex life, thank you very much.”

He waggles his eyebrows at me suggestively, trying to cover up his moment of insecurity. “Very happy, huh?”

“Extremely.”

“Oh, yeah?”

I take his face in my hands, pulling him close to me. “I’m a highly satisfied customer,” I whisper, planting a quick kiss on him. “That’s all the ego-stroking you’re getting from me out in public.” I caress his cheeks with my thumbs and turn, heading back in the direction of our apartment. “And I don’t want to hear you bitching about how full you are the rest of the night.”

He lets out a pathetic moan. “But I _am_ ,” he whines.

“No one forced you to eat what equaled probably half a chicken.” The upside to the hole-in-the-wall restaurant we’ve discovered in the last year and have absolutely fallen in love with is everything on the menu costs a fraction of just about every other place within a fifteen block radius. The downside is that, somehow, their portion sizes are easily twice as big as the pretentious, overpriced places that populate Georgetown.

“I couldn’t let it go to waste.”

“Leftovers, Josh. They’re called leftovers, and it’s perfectly acceptable to admit defeat and bring food home with you.” I can feel him wind up beside me, ready to argue that he never accepts defeat. “I know, I know,” I say, cutting him off. “’Defeat’ isn’t in your vocabulary. You laugh in the face of quitters. You conquer. You reign. You rule. The world is your oyster because you never give up and you never surrender. You also lack self-control, which is why you’re going to spend the rest of the night sprawled out on the couch as you try to digest several meals worth of food.” I take two steps past Gus and realize Josh has come to a halt. I stop and turn around to find him several feet back, stock-still as he stares at me. I put my hands on my hips, lifting an eyebrow at him. “What? Are you upset because I’m mocking you? You should be used to that by now.”

“Donna,” he says softly, and I have a brief moment of panic that something has happened to him before I realize that none of the detail look concerned. They’re all keeping their eyes trained elsewhere, continuously searching our surroundings for anything out of the ordinary.

“Are you okay? Is it your stomach? Does it hurt for real?” He shakes his head and I feel my brow crinkle in confusion as I take a few more steps, closing the gap between us. “I hate to sound like a broken record, but your face is frozen in an odd way.”

He reaches out and grabs my hands, pulling them to his chest. “I love you so much.”

I let out a relieved breath—he’s just having one of his moments of clarity. That happens to him every so often. It’s almost like he forgets that this hasn’t always been the status quo and his relationship synapses start firing all at once, usually causing an overload of some sort. “I know that.”

“You’re the love of my life.”

“I know that, too.” I give his hands a squeeze. “Don’t look so worried.”

“I just like to make sure you know it.”

“I do,” I promise, squeezing his fingers again. “I really do.”

He lets go of one of my hands, but before I can turn to start walking again, he’s reaching into his suit jacket and lowering himself to the ground. My heart leaps into my throat and I suddenly forget how to breathe. My free hand comes up to cover my mouth. My eyes fill with tears. “Oh, my God,” I manage to whisper. “Josh…”

He just stares up at me in awe and wonder, one knee pressed against the sidewalk, small box in his free hand, and the strange look on his face from a moment ago starts to make sense. “Donna,” he says, his voice choked and strangled, and I can’t help but reach out, running my hand over his cheek. He clears his throat and tries again. “Donna…wow. I’ve never done this before. I’ve gone over this a dozen times in my head but nothing ever feels quite right. I figured that I’d know what to say when the time came but…how do you find words good enough to let the woman who’s made your life bearable for so many years know that she means everything to you? How do you tell her that the earth and the moon and the sun revolve around her? How do I express how happy you make me? That I wake up every day and smile because you’re there? That you make my heart light? I’m not eloquent enough to…”

“You’re doing a pretty good job,” I tell him, my voice high and tight.

“I love you so much, and all I want to do with my life is try to make you as happy as you’ve made me.” His mouth opens and closes a few times before he shrugs helplessly. “Will you marry me?”

I don’t have to think about it—I’ve known for a long time that I want to marry Josh. Still, I can’t get my voice to work—all I can do is let out a couple of choked sobs. Instead, I nod my head vigorously, hoping it’s answer enough.

A smile starts to tug at the corner of his mouth, but he quickly schools his features. “I’m going to need verbal confirmation.”

A laugh bubbles out of me and I sniffle, bringing my hand up to wipe my face, my left hand still clasped firmly between his. “Yes.” Surprisingly, my voice is strong and clear. “Yes,” I tell him again because it feels so good.

A full-fledged grin spreads across his face. “Yes?”

“Yes,” I answer again, my cheeks starting to hurt from smiling. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

He laughs, too, and stands up suddenly, hugging me so hard I almost fall over. We bury our faces in each other’s necks and I feel myself sob, crying for no reason other than joy. I clutch Josh to me for a few long moments before I realize his body is shaking a little and that my neck is wet.

“Hey.” I pull back just a bit so I can grab his head, dislodging him carefully. “What’s all this?” I ask, wiping my thumbs over his wet cheeks. He cries less than I do, which isn’t terribly often, though it seems like I do so more with him than I ever have before. Something about trusting another person with all that you have and that they’ll still love you.

He doesn’t answer; instead, he puts his hands on my waist and pulls me closer, leaning in to kiss me. My head tilts as I respond eagerly. As far as kissing Josh goes, it’s one of the best ones to date. It’s sweet and hopeful and full of passion…basically, everything that is Josh. I’m kissing everything that he embodies, all the things in his heart and soul are being transferred in his kiss and it’s utterly perfect. Without even realize it, one of my feet has come off the ground—not entirely like an old-fashioned movie, but definitely along those lines. I didn’t think that sort of thing actually happened.

We come up for air, both of us gasping, our chests heaving, grins splitting our faces. His cheeks are still damp, his eyes are still shiny, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so happy.

“We’re getting married,” I whisper, though it sounds a little bit like a question.

“You’re my fiancée,” he counters, his voice lilting up at the end, too. It’s a lot to take in. I just grab his face and pull him in again, though it’s hard to kiss when we’re smiling so much.

We surface again, probably minutes later, and he steps away from me marginally. “I have a ring. I’m sorry—I guess I did this out of order but…I have it.” His hands leave my waist and start fumbling with the box I’d forgotten was in his hand—he never even opened it before when he was asking. He fumbles with the clasp for a few moments before the box pops open, and I get choked up all over again.

“Josh,” I whisper through my fresh set of tears. “Oh, God. It’s beautiful.” He shrugs bashfully, grabbing my hand after he plucks the ring from its nest. I’m surprised to see my hand shaking as he slides the band onto my finger. I’m even more surprised that it fits nearly perfectly. I hold up my hand for a few moments, watching the diamond catch the light from the street lamps before my insides turn to jelly and I wrap my arms around him, trying in vain not to weep again. I never imagined I’d have this reaction to Josh proposing to me but I absolutely can’t stop crying. At least he seems to be having the same trouble. I just can’t believe I had no idea he was going to do this—

“Oh, my God!” I exclaim, pushing back from him. “How did you plan this? I can’t believe you were walking around with that ring in your pocket all day. Were you going to do it at dinner?”

He chuckles a little, giving me a quick kiss. “Does it matter?”

“Well, if I ruined some big moment you had planned it does! We can go back, if you want.”

“I wasn’t going to do it at dinner.”

My head tilts in confusion. “At home, then? Did you—but why would you have the ring on you now?”

“Donna,” he says, pausing when Troy clears his throat.

“Sorry, Mr. Lyman, Miss Moss. But if we could get you two moving again…”

“Yeah, no problem,” Josh answers, taking my hand in his and weaving our fingers together.

“And congratulations,” he says as we start walking, and it’s only then I remember we had an audience. Josh only beams, though, not looking at all concerned about his emotional display. He just reaches out and claps Troy on the shoulder.

“Thanks, man.” If I wasn’t almost completely overcome with joy at the moment, I’d reach over and smack the caveman, I-just-locked-in-my-woman look off his face. As it is, I’m constantly glancing down at our linked fingers, stumbling over my own feet as I marvel at the engagement ring.

“Josh…how…I mean—”

“I’ve been carrying that thing around with me for months.”

I swear my feet turn to lead. I stop walking as I gawk at him. He gives my arm a tug, knowing the guys want us to get inside sooner rather than later.

“You’ve had an engagement ring picked out for months?” I ask as I start walking again, sure I’ve misheard him.

“No, it’s been on me for four or five months.”

“Josh!” I exclaim, coming to a halt again for a few seconds before he pulls at my hand once more. “You’ve been walking around with something like this for months? What if something had happened to you?”

He glances around at the security detail before lifting an eyebrow at me. “It was probably safer like this than anywhere else. Can you wait until we get home to yell at me, though?”

“I’m not going to yell at you,” I answer softly, staring at his profile in shock, my mind whirling. He’s had this for months? He’s had it _with_ him for months? How is that possible? How did I not suspect?

“Well, I’ll tell you everything when we get home. I don’t think Gus or Troy could handle us stopping again.” One of them grunts in agreement. I’m sure there’s no imminent danger, but Josh is typically easier to keep safe if he’s confined. Fortunately, it only takes another couple of minutes before our building come into view. I can hear the guys talking into their pieces, letting everyone inside know to start their sweep. We only have to wait another minute before we’re given the all-clear, and Josh all but drags me inside. Before I can admonish him for being rude, he closes the door and presses me against it with a thump, attacking my mouth.

“Everything all right in there?” Someone—I think Alex—calls from outside the door, laughter barely concealed. I can’t help it—I snort with laughter then bury my face in Josh’s neck. I try to stifle my laughter, but it’s no use.

Josh makes a noise and calls out, “Yeah, we’re good. Sorry about that. G’night!” He tickles my side a little. “You done?” he asks, his voice softer.

I lift my head and bite my lip. Our life can be so absurd at times. My laughter dies down quickly, though, at the look in his eyes; it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I cup his cheek in my hand, the unfamiliar weight of the engagement ring making me feel oddly off-balance. It’s amazing that something so relatively small can carry such weight, metaphorically speaking.

“You’re really gonna marry me?” he asks suddenly, like this hasn’t been a foregone conclusion almost since the moment we decided to be us.

Though, I suppose it’s fair. I’m still in shock, too. Somehow, knowing it was going to happen at some point doesn’t change the reality of us actually getting engaged.

“I can’t _wait_ to marry you,” I answer. “You ready to put up with me from until eternity?”

“Got anything longer than eternity? ‘Cause I don’t think that’s long enough.”

The things this man can do to my heart. I grab the back of his head and pull him to me, kissing him thoroughly. He wraps his arms around my waist, holding me tight to him. I run my hands through his hair, the ring getting hung up on a couple of strands. Somehow, that brings me back to the present.

“Josh,” I mumble against his lips. “You said you’d explain some things.”

He groans a little, sliding one hand down my hip until he gets to my thigh, trying to tug my leg over his—the suddenly impractical pencil skirt I’m wearing stymies his actions. “I can think of better things to do,” he answers, moving down to suck at my neck.

“You make a compelling argument,” I agree, tilting my head to give him better access. “And I’m sure the guys would really enjoy hearing us having sex against the door—” I pause and whack the door behind me, hearing a few snickers on the other side—I’m sure they’re not standing around with their ears pressed to the door, but we’ve all learned the hard way that some of the walls around here aren’t exactly thick. “But can you think of a more clichéd way to celebrate being engaged?”

He lifts his head, giving me a lazy smile full of dimples and teeth. “Some things are clichéd for a good reason.”

“Weren’t you just complaining about how full you are?”

“It went away. Better things to think about.”

I grin, not protesting when he leans into kiss me again. My head swirls—my life has suddenly changed drastically. He’s going to be my husband. _My husband_. We’re not going to be talking about the general possibility of getting married one day—we’re actually going to be married, and it’s only now—now that we’re engaged—that I’ve realized just how much I want to this. I’ve been beyond happy with Josh for the last almost-two years, and living together has been wonderful, but I’m only just realizing or admitting how much I want to be married. Well, not married in general—married to Josh.

I wrestle my lips from his and duck under his arm in one smooth motion, making my way over to the couch. I lean against the arm and as I bend down to take off my shoes, Josh turns around to gape at me. “Donna,” he whines.

“We have all night to have sex,” I tell him, wincing a little as I rub the arch of my foot, “and you’ll be useless afterward, so if I want to hear this story, it’d better be now.”

He comes and stands in front of me, pulling off his suit jacket and draping it over the back of the couch. “Want me to rub your feet?”

Yeah; I’m marrying the perfect man. “Always. But seeing as how you just gave me the most beautiful engagement ring I’ve ever seen, I can do without for now.”

He takes my hands and pulls them against his chest, smiling at me warmly. “I don’t mind.”

“I know, honey, but I’m okay. They’re just regular sore, not super sore. Thank you, though.”

“The offer is on the table,” he tells me, pulling my right hand to his mouth and kissing the palm. I sigh, melting a little under his touch. I pull my other hand from his chest, getting my first look at the ring in full lighting. I can’t help it—my eyes fill with tears again. It’s just so…wow. It’s in an antique-looking setting, and the main stone is large enough that I’m probably going to feel very self-conscious and nervous for a while, and it’s surrounded by tiny diamonds. I don’t know how he did it, but it’s the exact ring I would pick for myself if ever given the choice.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to propose for months,” he says suddenly, his voice soft.

I look up at him, somehow not surprised to see that his eyes are shiny again. “You have?”

“I wanted to make it special. You deserve that much. Every time we went somewhere nice or to an event where we had to dress up, I thought I should do it then but…I don’t know. There were always a million other people around, or one of us would get called away, or it just didn’t feel right yet. I kept thinking I was wussing out—I mean, I had the ring on me and the perfect woman, all I had to do was ask—but I knew it wasn’t how I wanted to do it. Realistically, I knew you wanted me to do it, so it didn’t entirely matter how I asked but...I also knew it didn’t feel like the right moment, so I waited.” He hangs his head, shaking it a little before stepping around me to sit on the couch. “And after all that, I propose to you in the middle of a grungy sidewalk.”

“No, Josh!” I protest, turning on the arm of the couch to face him. I try to pull him in for a hug but my skirt gets in the way. I give up and slide onto his lap, wrapping my arms around him. “It was perfect.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I swear, it was amazing. I can’t imagine anything better.” The moment has already grown hazy in my memory, the only clear part being Josh looking at me like I hung the moon. That’s why I always knew that the setting of the proposal wouldn’t matter—I figured the only thing I’d care about would be that he was asking me to spend my life with him.

His arms go around me, giving me a squeeze. “I just figured if I had the ring on me, I’d be able to find the perfect moment. I guess I thought I’d do better than having it fall out of my mouth as we were walking home from dinner. But I just suddenly knew. I don’t know how else to describe it. I had to ask right then.”

“See? You found the perfect moment. What’s better than you being so full of love that you couldn’t help but ask?”

“I was full of something all right,” he mutters, and I give him a little nudge.

“So, you bought this five or six months ago? How’d you manage it? I can’t picture you trolling around jewelry stores looking for rings.”

He chuckles a little, his body tensing beneath mine as he shifts. “Yeah, well, about that…”

“What—you knock over a jeweler?”

“Yes.” His voice and expression are so deadpan that if I didn’t know him better, I’d actually believe him. “But seriously, how do you feel about hand-me-downs?”

I unwrap my arm from around him, holding my hand away from my body like it’s suddenly become diseased. “Joshua Lyman, if you gave me a ring you bought for another woman, I will actually kill you. Your guards would do nothing to stop me.”

“Calm down, Zsa Zsa,” he says, grabbing my hand and pulling it back in. “You really think there’s another woman out there I’d have gotten a ring for?”

“I suppose you have a point,” I answer, settling back against him a little. “Did you get it at an antique store or something? Because I don’t mind that at all.”

“You really want to take all the mystery and fun out to this?” he teases.

“Yes. When it comes to you shopping for jewelry, I need a clear mental picture of your discomfort.”

He chuckles a little and leans his head against my shoulder, fiddling with my fingers and playing with ring a little. “Well, I’ll have you know that I actually _did_ manage to go to a few jewelry stores, though usually when I was out of town and less likely to be spotted, and always under the guise of just trying find you a present. I had to go with misdirection because I figured if the President knew, he wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret. If nothing else, he’d tell the First Lady and it’d snowball from there. It should also be noted that I tried to design one, too, to sort of go with the necklace and earrings, but I thought that maybe that’d be too much, at least for an engagement ring. Maybe I’ll do that at some other point, you know, so you can have a whole set—”

“Josh,” I interrupt with a laugh, poking him with my elbow. “Circle back to the point.”

“Yeah. Okay. Well…” he lets out a big breath. “It was my grandmother’s.”

I feel my mouth drop open, my eyes automatically going back to the ring. “What?”

“I got it from my mom.”

“Josh…wow. You got your mom to send this—wait, does she know…”

He hugs my waist. “Well, here’s where the story takes…an unusual turn. No, she doesn’t know I was thinking about proposing.”

I open my mouth answer, stop, then shake my head. “Wait—what?”

“Remember when we went to Florida last summer? She gave it to me then.”

I turn and stare at him, completely in shock. “But we’d only been together for, like, seven months then.”

“Eight, but I get your point.”

“You’ve had the ring for over a year?”

“Yeah.”

“So, when we were in Wisconsin for Thanksgiving and you said that you couldn’t propose because you’d left the ring at home…”

“I was half-joking at that point, yes. I wasn’t ever going to do that in front of our families, but I didn’t have the ring with me, either. It was in the safe deposit box at that point.”

My mind really is swirling right now. “So when we were in Florida, you already knew…you asked your mom for…”

He chuckles, shaking his head ruefully. “No, but I wish that’s how it happened. Seems more romantic.” His eyes grow wide, panic on his face. “I mean, I did knew— _know_ —then. We both knew it. We weren’t ready for it, but we knew it. But I didn’t ask my mom for it. I didn’t know it existed until then. No, she was asking me when you and I were getting married and going on about wanting grandkids, and then she pulled this out and told me I should give it to you. She had a whole thing about how I should look for a ring anyway, just in case this wasn’t the one, but she said I should give you this one anyway because you’d like that it has history. So, I did—I looked at other rings but I already knew this was what I wanted you to have. So, I took it out of the box and…tried to figure out how to give it to you. Which obviously took months.”

I stare at him for a few long moments before I feel a laugh burst out of me. I cover my mouth, but Josh looks a little mortified.

“Um, ow.”

I shake my head, trying to get myself under control. “No, no—it’s just so… _quintessential_ Alice Lyman. I can totally picture your mom doing that. Well, I can picture _my_ mom doing, too, and I imagine the only reason she didn’t is…” I gesture helplessly toward the engagement ring, feeling laughter shake my entire body.

Josh finally starts to laugh, too. “Yeah, they’re pretty meddlesome, aren’t they?”

“They should have their own sitcom by this point.”

He nods in agreement, still chuckling. “You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if my mom told your mom about the whole thing at Thanksgiving. All they had to do was egg each other on at that point.”

“Speaking of,” I say, trying to shift off his lap only to have him tighten his hold on me. “We have a couple of calls to make.”

“Can’t it wait?” he asks, kissing the back of my neck.

Like I want to do anything but just be with him right now. “If we were normal people, I’d say it could wait, but you know how this would go. If we try to delay telling our families for even twelve hours, this will be the moment one of your crazy groupies would have been walking by with a camera and it’ll be all over the news by morning.”

“That’s a little extreme,” he answers, “but you’re completely right. Better to just call now and get it out of the way.”

“You prepared for a lot of screaming and crying?”

He makes a noise, pulling me in for a kiss before maneuvering himself out from under me. He gets up and goes to the kitchen, grabbing the cordless from there. “Don’t you think whoever we call first will suspect something?”

“We’ll do the three-way thing,” I answer as he comes back into view. “Tell them we want to talk about our plans for the holidays.”

He grunts in agreement, sitting down beside me. I cover his hand, stopping him before can dial. “What?” he asks.

“I love you so much, and I can’t wait to be your wife.”

He completely melts and we wrap our arms around each other, kissing slowly. “It’s gonna be amazing, isn’t it?” he whispers; I swear my heart is going to explode.

“Being married?” I ask, and he nods a little. “Definitely.”

He gives me another kiss before pulling back, grabbing the phone again. “We’re probably gonna have to send an email, too, otherwise there are going to be a lot of pissed off friends who’ll want to know why they weren’t the first to know.”

I sigh and stand up, going to dig our digital camera out of the desk. The group emails started a little more than a year ago after CJ got a lot of calls to find out why they heard about her wedding through invitations instead of a phone call. In her defense, her engagement period was almost non-existent because she got married about a month after Danny proposed, but after that, she started sending out group emails that included me and Josh, the Bartlets, Sam, Charlie, sometimes Toby, and occasionally Will and even Kate; depending on the content, it’ll include her siblings, too. The rest of us have taken to communicating like that, too, so one feels slighted. It’s silly, but also effective. It’s not unusual for pictures to be included, though I think Dr. Bartlet started with pictures of her grandkids and the former President in his natural habitat of New Hampshire. It’s just another thing that’s caught on in the last couple of years.

I grab one of our laptops then set up the camera only to find Josh holding the phone in midair as he stares at me, and I sigh playfully. “If you were a cartoon character, I’d swear you had hearts in your eyes.” I bend over and kiss him. “Why haven’t you called yet?”

“Do I really get to spend the rest of my life with you?” he asks, his face filled with wonder; just the thought of it makes me tingle.

“Yep,” I answer, clearing my throat. “You’re stuck with me for good now. Trapped. Tied down. Shackled.”

He smiles at me almost dreamily. “I’m so lucky.”

Part of me can’t understand how he’s not a little freaked out by this, but maybe he’s just overwhelmed—the part where he realizes I’m the face he’s going to see every morning until he dies will hit him eventually.

I grab his hand and pull him up, kissing him again. “Pose for a picture, Mr. Sentimentality. I’ll get it ready to send while we’re on the phone with the parents.”

“What’re we going to do?” he asks with a smirk as I push him into position, then move to fiddle with the camera on the mantle. “Are we going to reenact the proposal?”

“No, we’re not going to—we could.”

“No.”

“It could be cute.”

“No. _You’ll_ look cute; I’ll look like an idiot.”

“Well, then just shut up and smile.”

He rolls his eyes, trying to look terribly put upon, but the truth is that he loves having his picture taken. Josh Lyman is a camera whore and since I’ve introduced him to digital photography, he’s content to pose for a dozen pictures at a time, studying each one carefully until he declares himself perfect in each shot.

I check the camera again to make sure I can see him, set the timer so it’ll take continuous shots, then take my place next to him. “Wait—how’s anyone going to see your ring?”

I shrug, holding up my hand as I look at him, and I hear the camera click. “Damn it.” He wraps his arm around me, and I can see him giving the camera his best “my girlfriend is forcing me to do this so I’ll just play along” smile. I elbow him a little, which I think winds up being captured, too. Then he plants a big kiss on my cheek, tickling my side to make me laugh. After that, he kisses me and I forget all about the camera for a few minutes.


	2. Chapter 2

With all the willpower I possess, I put my hands on his chest and push him away. He manages to lean in anyway, kissing me again. “We can call our parents after, right?” he manages to mumble against my mouth. My hazy brain almost agrees with him until something in my head snaps into place again. This time, I push myself away, trying to get my bearings. I let out a shaky laugh and grab the camera off the mantle, sitting down resolutely on the couch—truthfully, my knees were starting to shake so badly I had no choice but to sit. I pat the spot next to me and he lets out his most put upon sigh as he sits and grabs the phone again. I try not to look at him as I connect the camera to the laptop, knowing my resistance to him is weakening by the moment. The prospect of celebratory sex is wildly appealing.

I shake my head—we probably wouldn’t be able to drag ourselves out of bed at a decent enough time to call our parents, and then I would wind up dying from mortification when they asked why we didn’t call right away and they figured out a few moments later what we’d been up to. While I’m absolutely sure my parents and Josh’s mom are generally aware that we have sex, there’s no need to paint such a vivid picture if I can avoid it.

“ _Hello?_ ” I jump, surprised for a moment by the sound of Mrs. Lyman’s voice until I realize Josh has already put her on speaker.

“Hey, Mom.”

“ _Joshua, why on earth are you calling so late? Is everything all right? Are you hurt? Is Donna okay?_ ”

“We’re fine, Mom,” he answers, glancing at his watch in confusion. “What are you talking about late? It’s barely after nine.”

“ _That’s actually considered late to be making non-emergency phone calls, darling,_ ” she tells him, her voice heavy with sarcasm.

“Well, hell, Mom, this is an early night in our line of work.”

“ _Joshua_ ,” she answers, her voice stern, and I muffle my snicker with my hand.

“Well, _heck_ , Mom, this is an early night in our line of work,” he answers, rolling his eyes.

“ _Thank you_ ,” she answers primly, though I know she’s not bothered by swearing—she’s only annoyed when her son does it. “ _So, what’s going on?_ ”

He glances over at me, grinning from ear to ear. “Nothing,” he answers, doing a pretty good job of keeping his tone casual. “We wanted to talk to you about Thanksgiving and see what the plan was for this year. You got a second to hold while we call Donna’s parents and get you on the three-way?”

“ _Sure, sweetie_ ,” she answers, and I can tell by her tone that she’s relaxing now that she knows her son is in one piece. “ _Hi, Donna_.”

“Hi, Mrs. Lyman,” I answer. “I mean Alice. Sorry.” For all the years I’ve known her, it shouldn’t be this difficult to use her first name, but it just feels odd. I need to get over it—I’m marrying her son. Hell, _I’m_ going to be Mrs. Lyman. I feel my eyes expand to approximately the size of dinner plates and I grab Josh’s arm.

He gives me a look, his brow furrowing. “Just hang on a second, Mom.” He starts pressing buttons, hopefully not disconnecting anyone, and mouths, “You okay?” just in case his mother can still hear us.

“Mrs. Lyman!” I mouth back, gesturing to myself wildly. Even though I doubt I’ll really go by that name, I get a rush thinking about it.

Somehow, his grin widens and he punches in my parents’ phone number while I start to load the pictures to the laptop. They are, not surprisingly, absolutely ridiculous. My face is entirely teeth, and I have to wonder if I’ve been smiling like that since the moment he asked. Probably. Josh, not surprisingly, looks smug, almost like he’s strutting, as if he’s accomplished something of monumental proportion.

“Those are cute,” he breathes, tapping the screen as he sees the one where he’s kissing my cheek and I’m laughing, the engagement ring visible on my hand. “I really like that one.”

I nod in agreement as the phone rings and load it to an empty email as we wait for my parents to answer.

“ _Hello?_ ”

“Hey, Dad,” I answer, working on putting all the email addresses in.

“ _Hey, kiddo—you want to talk to Mom?_ ”

I can’t help but chuckle a little—I love my dad and he loves all of his kids, but talkative isn’t a work I’d ever use to describe him. He’s better in person but as far as phone conversations go, he’d rather not. “No—well, yes, get her on the phone, too.”

“ _Lucy!_ ” he yells, barely muffling the phone, and Josh snickers as he connects his mother to the call.

“ _Donna?_ ” my mom asks a moment later, sounding breathless. “ _Is everything all right?_ ”

“ _Hi Lucy!_ ” Mrs. Lyman exclaims.

My mother pauses for just a moment before answering. “ _Hello, Alice. What’s going on?”_

“ _The kids want to talk about Thanksgiving,_ ” she answers.

“ _Oh…didn’t we already settle all this?_ ”

Josh and I look at each other in confusion, but his mother laughs. “ _I think_ we _did some time ago, but perhaps we forgot to let everyone else in on it._ ”

“Do we have to be here for this?” Josh asks, sounding amused.

“ _Sorry,_ ” Mom answers. “ _Alice and I talked a while back and decided just to do the same thing as last year. Dad and I have the space, and we don’t mind hosting._ ”

“ _We don’t?_ ” my dad asks, though I can tell he’s kidding…sort of.

“ _Sorry we didn’t tell you earlier,_ ” Mrs. Lyman says. ” _You should probably tell the boys, Lucy._ ”

I shake my head at the two of them, but I honestly love that our moms are so fond of each other, and it’s much better that they get along as opposed to some of the horror stories I’ve heard about feuding in-laws.

“ _I’ll call them tomorrow,_ ” Mom says. “ _No set time—just the week of. Any time the two of you can get here will be great._ ”

“Okay, Mom,” I answer, barely concealing my laughter. Josh pokes me in the ribs, which doesn’t help.

“ _It’ll be good to see everyone again,_ ” Mrs. Lyman adds.

“ _You know you can come out here any time you want, Alice. We’d love to have you._ ”

My father clears his throat then, not to say that Josh’s mother isn’t welcome, but to let them know they’ve gone off on a tangent and to bring it back in. I’ve had more than thirty years of experience learning how to decipher my father’s non-verbals—I’m something of an expert now.

“ _Sorry_ ,” my mom says again, laughing. “ _We’ll let you kids go, then, now that we’ve got that squared away. I’m sure we won’t get a chance to see you before then, but call more often, all right? We love to hear from you_.”

I look at Josh in a panic—this is quickly spiraling out of control. Clearly, we didn’t think this strategy through. He shrugs at me helplessly, obviously not sure how to bring up our impending nuptials.

“ _Yes—call your mother, Joshua,_ ” Mrs. Lyman adds. “ _I’ll—_ ”

“We’re getting married,” I exclaim, the words falling out of my mouth totally by accident. There’s complete silence on the other end of the phone…until there’s not.

As predicted, there’s a lot of yelling happening, and I can’t even distinguish who is who for a few moments. I’m positive both of our mothers are crying, though.

“ _You’re engaged,_ ” Mom finally manages to choke out.

“ _My baby is getting married?_ ” Alice asks at almost exactly the same time.

“Yeah,” Josh answers, squeezing my fingers with his. “Yeah, we’re getting married.”

“ _So, you didn’t want to ask for my permission, Josh?_ ” my dad asks, his voice sounding strange.

“Dad!”

“ _Jim!_ ” my mother exclaims. “ _That’s what you say to your daughter right now?_ ”

“Dad, I’m the only one who can give permission to marry me. Josh knows I wouldn’t want him to do something so…archaic.” I look over at him; his eyes are huge, his shoulders caught in a shrug, and I think it’s more a matter of him not thinking about that instead of not wanting to insult me. Either way, I’m glad he didn’t do it.

“ _Well, it would have been nice if he’d asked for my approval._ ”

“ _We approve!_ ” my mother exclaims. ” _Don’t listen to him, Josh—we think you’re wonderful and you make our daughter so happy and we’re so thrilled you’re getting married._ ” I can’t help but wonder for a moment if I’ll somehow wind up answering for Josh like that. If we have a daughter, would he behave the same way? No—he’d be much worse. I’ll definitely have to take over talking for the both of us.

“ _It’s just…Donna…you’re my little girl…_ ” my dad’s voice cracks then, and I immediately burst into tears.

“Dad,” I choke out. Josh’s arm goes around my shoulders comfortingly. “It’s okay. I’m so, _so_ happy. I love Josh with my whole heart and I’m so excited about marrying him. Please…be happy for me.”

I can hear sniffling on the other lines, but I think it’s still our mothers. Dad isn’t at all a crier, and the one time I can recall seeing him cry it was completely silent. “ _How much is this going to cost me?_ ” he finally asks, his voice still thick, but I think he’s managed to regroup.

” _Jim!_ ” my mother yelps, horrified.

“Well, how much have you got, Dad?” I ask, wiping my face with back of my hand.

I can hear him chuckle and my mom suddenly exclaims, “ _You can get married here!_ ”

“Uhhh...in Wisconsin?” I ask, making a face.

“ _Yeah! You know how beautiful it is in the summer._ ”

“Well, sure, in July or August. Any time other than that it’s probably going to snow.”

“ _Or you could get married here,_ ” Josh’s mother says. “ _You could have a wedding on the beach._ ”

Well, that’s a thought. Josh makes a face, though—unless it’s Hawaii and we’re escaping all our troubles, he’s not much of a beach person. I think the only beach he would agree to would be somewhere in Hawaii, and I don’t see us going back there any time soon.

“We’re just going to elope,” he says, making both mothers gasp simultaneously.

“ _Josh, be serious_ ,” his mother says dismissively after a few moments. “ _You’re not going to deprive poor Jim of his only chance to walk his daughter down the aisle, are you?_ ”

“What is that—reverse psychology or something?” I ask, almost impressed.

She just laughs. “ _I have so many things to teach you, Donna._ ”

“ _When’s the wedding going to be?_ ” my mom asks eagerly, and I rub my forehead—this is what our life is going to be for a while.

“Mom, we haven’t even been engaged for an hour yet. We haven’t talked about where or when. Give us some time!”

“ _How’d you propose, Joshua? Did you use the ring?_ ” his mother demands, and Josh actually throws his hands up in frustration.

“We’ll talk about it more later,” I answer before his head explodes. “I’ll call and we’ll chat and all that stuff in the next couple of days, all right? We just wanted to let you know before you found out any other way.”

“ _Oh…oh, that’s all right, honey,_ ” Mom answers, sounding disappointed. ” _You should celebrate. Enjoy your evening._ ”

“ _Take pictures!_ ” Mrs. Lyman exclaims. “ _Did you take pictures?_ ”

Josh sighs, looking vaguely amused. “We did just a little while ago.” His mother is actually the reason we’ve gotten into taking pictures as often as we do. When she was here during our first Chanukah/Christmas, she oohed and ahhed appropriately over the pictures we took in Hawaii, even stealing a few copies for herself, but she seemed oddly disappointed that we hadn’t been taking more since then. I suppose it never occurred to either of us. She said it was one of the few things she regretted with her late husband—she didn’t have enough pictures to look back on. She admitted that it wasn’t as accessible then as it is now, but she still felt she should have tried harder. Time passed for Josh and myself in a blur at that point, though—we were entirely too busy with the transition then taking office to think about much of anything, especially not something as incidental as pictures. We had a few professional looking ones from the inauguration that we passed on, but that didn’t appease her. For our six month anniversary, she sent us a digital camera. It was still months before we thought to use it on a regular basis, but we eventually got into it, usually keeping it on us during any sort of excursion just in case. Josh can be dangerous with it at times, especially because it doesn’t require anything technical like changing film, so he can just snap pictures until his finger bleeds. We bought an even nicer camera and took it with us on our whirlwind trip through Europe this past summer, and she seemed very satisfied with the ones we sent her after that. Between that and the need to keep up with everyone else in the email chain who sends out pictures of whatever is going on in their life, we’ve got quite a collection.

“I’ll send you some right now, Mrs—Alice,” I call out, opening up a new email to send to just our parents.

“ _Darling, you’re officially going to be my daughter—don’t you think you should just call me ‘Mom’?_ ”

I freeze in the middle of the email, my heart pounding in my ears. She’s asked me to call her that before, but _never_ in front of my mother. I can’t even imagine how she’ll take that.

“ _It’s okay if you do, Donna_ ,” my mom answers softly. “ _It won’t offend me, I promise_.”

I clear my throat, clicking ‘send’ on the email for our parents. “I’m still working on the Alice thing but…I’ll try.”

“ _And Josh,_ ” my mom says, “ _you can call me ‘Mom,’ too, if it doesn’t bother your mother._ ”

“ _I’m honored to share that title with you, Lucy_ ,” Alice answers, sounding a little choked up again.

Josh squeezes my knee and I look up at him—his eyes are soft, his face full of love, and I know he’s touched by the offer, too. “Thanks,” he answers. “I’ll try.”

There’s silence on the other end for a moment, and then I’m fairly certain I hear my father grunt in protest, probably after being elbowed. “ _You can call me Jim if you want._ ”

I snort so hard it hurts. “Sure thing, Jim,” I answer, covering Josh’s hand with mine. My father makes a noise of disapproval at that.

“ _You’re cute_ ,” he tells me, and all I can do is laugh.

“Thank you, Mr. Moss. I appreciate the offer.” Josh likes to pretend he’s unflappable, but he’s completely intimidated by my parents, especially my father. He lived under the assumption for a long time that they hated him, but mostly they didn’t know him. My mother has actually kind of adored him since he flew to Germany after the bombing in Gaza. My father—again, being the less than communicative type—didn’t seem to despise him. In typical dad fashion, he’s never been too fond of anyone I’ve dated, though he likes Josh more than others. He was considerably less than thrilled when, during their stay during our first Christmas, he found out I was all but living with Josh. He had to actively ignore the fact that Josh and I were heading to the same bedroom at night. Mercifully, if he had comments, he kept them to himself. By the time we visited at Thanksgiving the following year, he managed to seem mostly unfazed by the two of us together.

However, none of that means he’s been buddy-buddy with Josh. He tolerates him in a pleasant enough manner, throwing out vague threats from time to time to keep my new fiancé on his toes. I’m mostly sure he’s just joking, though he doesn’t abide by people hurting his kids. He was willing to eviscerate Dr. Freeride. He’s gone on a rampage any time a significant other of my brothers’ has hurt them in any way. He’s not just super protective of his daughter—it’s all of his children. My mother isn’t much different, though she’s considered Josh one of her own for some time now. She’s been angling for me to marry him for years. Even before the whole Gaza thing, she’d tease me about my work husband and that I should make it official, but Josh doesn’t know the half of what she’s  said in the nearly two years we’ve been together.

Up until then, she was pretty good about not constantly asking me when I was getting married or when I was going to find a nice young man and finally settle down, stop working so many hours, and have babies. I mean, she _would_ ask from time to time, though she’d long since stopped asking when I was going to stop with the politics and come home, but since Josh and I got together, she’s gone into overdrive. She works it into every conversation we have, never completely understanding what we’ve been waiting for. Within days, the questions will shift to wedding stuff, and then onto kids.

I’m guessing, though, since his mother gave him the engagement ring completely unsolicited, Josh’s experience has been similar.

” _When are you going to tell your brothers?_ ” my mom asks suddenly and I make a face, realizing I’d forgotten all about that part. They’ll all care and be happy for me, but it really won’t matter to them how they find out.

“I’ll send them an email now,” I promising, pulling up another window for another email, throwing something together.

“ _Oh, Joshua,_ ” his mother says suddenly, sounding choked. “ _These pictures are lovely. You both look so happy._ ” I hear scrambling on the other end, which means my mother is rushing to her computer now to see what I’ve sent. “ _Send me a copy, won’t you?_ ”

“Send you a…” he repeats incredulously. “Mom, we just…okay. We’ll send you a copy.” I know he wants to explain that she can easily do that herself, but really, it’ll be faster just to do it for her. We’ve been down that road before. I’m not sure if that part of technology is honestly beyond her grasp or if she’s being purposefully obtuse. In fairness, Josh had no idea how to do that himself until about three months ago, so he really has no room to talk.

I hear sniffling again. “Mom? That you? You okay?”

“ _Sweetheart,_ ” she whispers. “ _You look so happy._ ”

I shake my head and roll my eyes at Josh, who squeezes my knee in sympathy. Why the hell is it so surprising that the two of us look happy, either right now or at any given moment? “Which one are you looking at?”

“ _You’re smiling_.” I literally have to bite my tongue to not say “duh.” “ _Josh is kissing your cheek and—oh, Donna! That ring is gorgeous! That was your grandmother’s, right, Josh?_ ”

“ _That’s the one_ ,” his mother answers, and I’m not at all surprised to have our suspicions confirmed about Alice telling my mother about passing the ring to Josh.. No wonder the two of them were trying to not-so-subtly tell Josh to pop the question last Thanksgiving.

My dad grunts again, but this is his pleased noise. Josh might have earned the official stamp of approval—not for the ring, but for the smile on my face.

At that moment, I realize Josh is less than casually pushing up my skirt. I try to give him a disapproving look but he just waggles his eyebrows at me lasciviously, completely breaking whatever resolve I was pretending to have. He’s essentially feeling me up in front of our parents and I can’t bring myself to stop him.

“We should probably go,” he says, his voice remarkably calm for someone who looks like he’s literally going to pounce. “We left work and went right to dinner so this is really the first time we’ve been home all day.”

“Yeah, and we’ll probably need to make some more calls,” I throw in, leaning back to give Josh better access.

“ _Okay, kids,_ ” his mom says.

“ _We’ll talk more in a few days, right? Maybe talk about dates and locations?_ ” Mom asks hopefully.

“Sure, Mom,” I answer, completely distracted by Josh pulling my hand to his mouth and kissing the palm.

“ _Then you two have a good night, and congratulations. We’re so happy for you._ ”

“ _Lucy, I’ll call you tomorrow,_ ” Josh’s mom adds, making him laugh into my hand.

“ _Sounds good. Good night, you two. We love you._ ”

“ _I love you, kiddo,_ ” my dad says suddenly, making me tear up all over again.

“Love you, too,” I answer.

“Goodnight, Mr. Moss,” Josh says, dropping my hand down to his lap and caressing my fingers lovingly. “Goodnight…Lucy.”

I can practically hear my mother smiling from Wisconsin. “ _Goodnight, Josh._ ” There are a couple of clicks as my parents hang up, though the phone isn’t completely dead.

“ _Well, well, well, Joshua…you finally did it. You found someone willing to put up with you for eternity_.”

“God willing,” he answers, squeezing my hand. “I’m locking her in with a legally binding contract so she’s stuck with me for the duration.”

I lean my head against his shoulder, feeling completely overwhelmed with the enormity of what we’re planning to do. Overwhelmed but totally sure that it’s what I want to do.

“ _I’m so happy for you both. You’re going to love being married._ ”

“I can’t wait,” Josh answers. “I suddenly have no idea why we’ve waited so long.”

I chuckle a little in agreement—up until now, waiting has made sense, but now that we’re on the verge of matrimony, I can’t fathom why we didn’t just do this after we got back from Hawaii.

I suppose, though, that our time together between then and now has been important, and wonderful, too. Not jumping right into marriage has given us a lot of time to just be, and it’s been amazing. But now…I’m so ready to be married to Josh I can hardly stand it.

“Watch out, Mrs. Lyman—he has a look in his eye like he’s going to whisk me off to Vegas any second now. I mean, Alice. Sorry—sshhhhh…oot.”

She chuckles a little. “ _Don’t you dare, Joshua. You’ve waited all this time to marry her—you can last a few more months._ ”

“No promises, Mom,” he answers, though I know he won’t want to deprive his mother of watching her only son get married.

She sighs wistfully, clearing her throat a moment later. “ _Well, I’ll let you two go. Congratulations again._ ”

“Thanks, Mom—love you. Have a good night.”

“Thank you—for everything,” I add. “I love you, too…Mom.” For some reason, that makes my heart thump erratically. Calling another person “Mom” feels like a betrayal.

Alice, however, lets out a choked laugh, sniffling loudly. “ _Oh, sweetheart—thank you_.”

“That felt weird,” I say with a laugh of my own.

“ _I appreciate it anyway. And now, I’m going to hang up before I’m booking a flight up to visit you._ ”

“Sounds good, Mom,” Josh cuts in before she gets any further with that though. “We’ll talk to you soon. ‘Night.” He disconnects the call before anything else can be said—his mom is the master of finding “just one more thing” to talk about and can keep someone on the phone for hours.

Josh lets out a sigh and flops back against the couch, rubbing my back affectionately. “Well, I think our moms are good with this.”

I laugh and lean back next to him, putting my hand on his thigh. “So it would seem.”

“And I think your dad might not completely hate me anymore.”

“He’s never hated you—he’s just protective of his kids. He just likes us to be happy, and he knows you do that for me. You’ll probably never be golfing buddies, but he’s accepted you as part of the family.”

He leans in, stroking my cheek for a few moments before kissing me softly. “I can’t believe I’m kissing an engaged woman,” he breathes, his cheeks dimpled as he grins devilishly at me.

“I won’t tell my fiancé, I promise.”

He chuckles, giving me another kiss before standing up. “What’s next? Who do we need to contact?”

“I’m going to send the email to everyone and I think that’s it.”

“Okay—you want anything? I wish I’d bought champagne so we could celebrate, but, you know, I had no idea I was doing this tonight.”

I look up at him, the smile on my face painful and unstoppable. “Get whatever you want and I’ll have some, too.”

He just grins at me before disappearing into the kitchen and I sit up, going back to the laptop. “One of my brothers has already seen the email,” I call out. “He says congratulations and…he sent me a link…” I click on it and I’m sent to a video of Madonna singing “Like a Virgin,” the song blaring through the tiny speakers.

“I was going to ask which brother, but that has Ben written all over it,” he answers, laughter evident in his voice.

“You are correct, sir,” I answer, closing the video. He’s an idiot, but he’s probably my favorite brother. I love all three of them, but I’ve always bonded more with Ben than Nick and Matteo—probably because we’re the middle kids. He also spends a lot more time on the internet than our brothers, so I’m not surprised that he responded first. I’m sure the other two will get back to me tomorrow.

I go back to the original letter I started what feels like forever ago and type up a short message to the group. Hopefully, everyone should pay attention to it because I’m not tacking it on the end of another thread—the subject line won’t be an endless string of re: re: re: re: re.

Just as I hit send, Josh comes back in with a couple glasses of wine, turning out as many lights as possible on the way. One of the upsides of having a security detail do a sweep before we get home is that they turn on all the lights for us and we don’t have to have to stumble around in the dark. The downside is that every damn light in the apartment is on.

But I know what Josh is trying to do right now—he’s feeling all sexy because he gave his woman a shiny piece of jewelry and he wants to set the mood.

And it’s working.

It must be obvious on my face, too, because he doesn’t even bother to hand me my glass—he just puts them both on the coffee table and sits down next to me, pulling me against his chest. I hardly have time to get situated before he attacks my mouth, kissing me like it’s going out of style.

“I love you,” I whisper in between kisses.

“God, I love you,” he mumbles, not coming up for air. He pulls me onto his lap a moment later, both of us yanking at my skirt so I can straddle his thighs properly. It’s probably a lost cause—I can imagine at least one person on our email chain will see our announcement before we know it—but there’s something about being newly engaged that makes me want to jump his bones. “I can’t wait to be your husband.”

Somehow, my insides melt even further. I love how he phrased that. It’s such a simple distinction, but the declaration of wanting to be my husband instead of me being his wife speaks volumes to me.

My cell phone rings suddenly, making us both jump, but he grabs onto me, trying to keep me close. “Ignore it,” he begs, kissing me harder.

I make a noise and pull away from him, almost falling off his lap to retrieve my suit jacket from the floor, which I don’t even remember removing. Josh is sneaky like that, often able to get me undressed without any help from me. Not that I’m complaining.

“I have to get it,” I tell him, digging through the pockets.

“Donna,” he whines, his head falling back on the couch.

I finally manage to find the phone, grinning at the caller ID. “It’s CJ.”

“She’ll call back,” he insists, putting his hands on my hips and tugging me closer.

“She will—over and over and over until we talk to her. It’s still early in California, I’m not surprised she’s calling.”

“Donna…”

I scoot off his lap and answer the phone, running my hand through Josh’s hair as he pouts. “Hello?”

“ _Well, it’s about damn time!_ ” CJ exclaims. ” _Why’d it take so long for him to ask?_ ”

I grin at Josh, who no doubt can hear CJ through the phone. He gives me a resigned look and picks up his wine glass, taking a long sip. I scratch his head a few times, letting him know I won’t leave him hanging.

“Shut up, CJ,” he growls, looking completely sullen. He’s going to milk this for as long as possible.

She laughs loudly; I can actually picture her throwing her head back in mirth. “ _Congratulations,_ ” she says. “ _When’s the big day?_ ”

I roll my eyes, though I know she’s just screwing with me. “I have a more important question.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

“Well, remember how I was the maid of honor at your wedding?”

She yelps into my ear and I pull the phone away for a few seconds. Josh smiles at me. I’m sure he knows what I’m asking her, as does she, but I have to say it anyway.

“Will you be _my_ maid of honor?”

She actually squeals, and I take that as a yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s more to come; it gets progressively more pointless as it goes on, but I do hope you all enjoy it, and that’s for reading what I have so far!


	3. Chapter 3

“This is really beautiful, Donna,” Helen says, holding my hand in hers and twisting it back and forth so the ring catches the light.

“I know,” I answer with a sigh, staring at my new ring, too. It still feels strange to be wearing it, and I find myself constantly playing with it, but it’s so lovely to see it on my hand, declaring to the whole world that I’m getting married.

“It’s a shame that we women go on and on about the rings the men in our lives buy us, isn’t it? It’s so shallow but it’s always the first thing we ask to see, as if it’s not a valid proposal unless the ring meets everyone else’s standards,” she says ruefully, though she’s still investigating the ring. “It’s like the fact that he asked you to spend your life with him isn’t enough—he has to prove how much he means it by going into debt.”

“Well, Josh didn’t actually buy this for me—it was his grandmother’s. He told me last night he skimped on my ring, so that’s why he’s been going overboard with all the other jewelry.” I gesture to my necklace and earrings, though I don’t know that I believe him about that part. He bought me the necklace long before he got the ring, so that excuse doesn’t hold any water.

My insides lock up for a few moments as I realize I’m walking around with a small fortune on me right now. While I don’t know how much the necklace and earrings cost him, I know they’re not cheap. My engagement ring is absolutely priceless. I’m sure it has monetary value but it already means the world to me because it’s from Josh. The thought of anything happening to any of the pieces I’m wearing absolutely horrifies me.

But, there’s also the question of, when did I become this person? I have a million pieces of jewelry but most of it has come from those cheap places in the mall, or from the occasional lucky find at a yard sale. Now I walk around with diamonds on at all times. I have a boyfriend who likes to behave like a high roller.

No—I don’t have a boyfriend. I have a fiancé. That’s wild to me.

Completely oblivious to my sudden panic attack, Helen says, “I’m assuming the reason I didn’t get a call about this last night is because you absolutely had to tell me in person.”

I laugh as she drops my hand, shaking my head. “The only people we called last night were our parents. We didn’t want them to hear about it any other way.”

“Oh—so I’m basically the first person to know?” she asks, completely surprised.

I wince. “Not exactly. We emailed my brothers last night, and then sent one out to the group so no one could complain about who was told first?”

“The group?”

“Yeah, you know—CJ, Sam, the Bartlets, people like that.”

Her eyebrows reach for her hairline—I could have sworn I mentioned this whole group messaging thing to her at some point. “Okay…”

“I—we—wanted to include you guys on it, but then we didn’t want the secret service to screen it and know before everyone else, or even block it because there are other senders who aren’t allowed to email you. It might not have even gone through from my personal account, and I don’t even have a regular email address for you—are you even allowed to check your personal email anymore?—”

“Breathe, Donna.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” I say, gasping as she chuckles a little. “If it makes any difference at all, you’re the first one I’ve told in person.”

She lifts her eyebrow at me, giving me that assessing look she’s so good at before breaking out into a grin. “I’ll take it. Come—sit! Tell me all about it.”

Part of me wants to protest, tell her how much work we have to do today, but we have lots of work every day, and I’ve _just_ gotten engaged. Honestly, there’s a huge part of me that wants to sit around talk about that instead of doing anything else.

“Honestly, I’m surprised no one’s noticed yet, between me suddenly not knowing what to do with my hands and the stupid grin on Josh’s face, I figured someone at our staff meeting would have noticed it,” I say, wiggling my finger a little.

“You were a little twitchier than normal,” she confirms, “but I figured you’d had too much coffee this morning.”

“Well, I did, actually, so that’s not helping.” I glance down at my ring again, smiling. Helen never thought anything about following me into her office this morning after our briefing; in fact, it’s not all an unusual occurrence. We usually have her schedule to nail down or strategy sessions or conference calls. Clearly, though, she wasn’t expecting this to be our topic of discussion today.

“So? Was it romantic? Was it everything you’ve ever wanted?” she asks as we sit down, and I sigh happily as the diamond sparkles in the early morning light. She just laughs a little, patting my arm. “It’s euphoric, isn’t it? You can’t even help it.”

I shake my head, laughing self-consciously. “I’m so excited about this. It’s so stupid because I knew it was going to happen at some point.”

“It’s okay to be excited about it. Hell, I told Matt just about everything except what day to do it. I wasn’t surprised at all, really, but I was still thrilled.”

I feel a little relieved knowing that Helen understands all this and doesn’t think I’m being some silly farm girl. “Well, Josh and I talked about it some beforehand. I mean, we’ve talked about it being kind of inevitable since we got together, but I didn’t know it was coming last night.”

“So, tell me. What did he do? He strikes me as a closet romantic, like he’d want to take you to the top of the Washington Monument and put it in skywriting.”

I laugh loudly, more because she’s not far off the mark in her assessment than anything else. “He’s not that closeted romantically, I don’t think. He likes big gestures and making a fool of himself in public all in the name of love. But, no, the proposal wasn’t as elaborate as all that. We were walking home from dinner—”

Her phone rings suddenly and she makes an apologetic face as she goes to her desk. “Hello?” She makes another face and covers the mouthpiece. “Sorry,” she whispers. “I have to take this. Can we talk some more in a few minutes?”

I nod and wave my hand, making my way out to my office. What’d really like to do is sit around all day and write my name in all its married variations over and over again like an over-zealous middle schooler, but…the inbox on my desk isn’t exactly conducive to daydreaming.

Before I can even sit down, though, there’s a tap my office door, Annabeth popping her head in a moment later. “Sorry; your assistant wasn’t at her desk.”

“Well,” I answer with mock-indignation, “I guess she’s fired.”

“Seems reasonable,” she answers. “Got a few minutes?”

“Of course. Come in, come in. What’s up?

She slips into the room, shutting the door behind her, and I casually perch on the edge of my desk. I’m still taller than her this way, but at least neither of us has to crane our necks to see each other.

“You sure I’m not interrupting?”

I can’t help but smile—I love how she can seem so meek and mild, especially with her high-pitched, young sounding voice, then turn into an absolute barracuda when her job calls for it. It’s even better because people who don’t know her think she’s going to be a pushover and a timid little mouse, and watching her destroy anyone who says a negative word about our administration is an absolute blast.

I gesture to my inbox. “Yes, and thank you for it.”

She smiles in acknowledgement, flipping open the folder she brought with her. “I just wanted to clean up a few points on the speech Helen gave on Wednesday.”

“You mean when she said it’s 2008 and she can’t believe we still have to convince people that kids shouldn’t go hungry and that teachers are buying their own supplies and kids aren’t getting the attention they deserve and what are we doing with ourselves if we’re not taking care of our future?”

She snickers, looking terribly amused. “Yeah, that’d be it.”

I grin and reach across my desk, grabbing the folder I spent a good portion of the last couple of days preparing. I knew we were going to have some backlash on this—Helen knew when she said it and, according to her, she didn’t give a rat’s ass. She said what needed to be said. The West Wing hates when she goes off book like that, but I kind of love it. It means she’s passionate about something, and any time the subject of children comes up, that’s when she improvises the most. True, it can mean a lot of feathers we have to try to unruffled, but I still think it’s better than a First Lady that isn’t interested in using her position to affect change. Besides, it’s really hard for anyone to tell her she’s wrong or doesn’t know what she’s talking about when Peter and Miranda attend public school, not to mention that Helen participates as much as possible with the PTA. Even in Texas, the kids were in public schools—she knows what they’re like, that some are better than others, but even then there are common themes. Teachers are overworked and underpaid, they’re not given the tools and supplies they need for their classes, and that no matter how good the school, no matter how nice the area, there’s always at least one kid who has parents who can’t afford to feed them, and that one kid is far too many.

After he heard the speech, Josh gave me all sorts of grief, as if I’m her speechwriter and can also control when she decides to ad-lib, but now it seems that the President is going to stand behind his wife on this one. That shut my fiancé up quickly.

Still, we’ve had to clarify a few things before making a public statement, and that was mostly to confirm that Helen did indeed mean every word she said and that the White House was going to support.

Annabeth screams suddenly, hopping up and down, and I jump off the desk, horrified. She starts sobbing, covering her mouth with one hand and grabbing my wrist with the other. Helen’s door flies open and she bolts out, her eyes wide with fear and in full-on Mom mode. “What?” she exclaims, looking around wildly. “What happened?”

Annabeth holds up my arm and it’s only then I realize she just noticed the engagement ring. Almost completely simultaneously, my office door bursts open, members of Helen’s security detail come running in, guns draw, fanning out around the room.

“There was a scream,” Vince, the biggest, burliest of them, and also the head of her detail, says, grabbing Helen and pulling her away from the windows.

I stare at the room full of people in shock. Annabeth is still holding my arm and crying, and Helen still looks startled, but also terribly amused.

“Spider,” Helen answers before either of us can say anything. “Big spider. Scared the hell out of Annabeth.” Annabeth nods in agreement. “She’s terrified of them.”

Vince stares at the three of us in disbelief. “A spider?”

“Huge,” I confirm, finding my voice.

“Did you want me to…” his voice trails off and I can tell he’s struggling not to laugh. “Kill it for you?”

“Taken care of,” Helen answers, amazingly composed.

“It’s under my shoe,” I add in, hoping like hell no one asks for proof.

Slowly, the other guards holster their weapons, looking somewhere between irritated and entertained.

“Are you sure?” Vince asks, his posture relaxing slightly.

“Positive,” Helen answers brightly, putting her hand on Annabeth’s back and pushing her toward the inner office. “We’re just gonna take her in here for a few minutes and get her to relax.”

He eyes us strangely, the rest of the detail filtering out. Helen gives him her best disarming smile and I try to follow suit. Annabeth is either still crying or now laughing; it’s hard to tell which. “Thanks for your concern,” she continues smoothly, ushering both of us toward her office. “That thing came out of nowhere. “Vince opens his mouth to say something, but thinks better of it a moment later, shaking his head as he walks out of my office. A moment later, Helen shoves me and Annabeth into her office, collapsing against the door in laughter. I chuckle a little, too, but mostly I’m still shaken up over all the screaming and the sudden appearance of half a dozen guns.

“Oh, my God!” Annabeth gasps.

“Are you all right?” I ask, trying to pull myself together.

“You’re engaged?!” she screeches, and I actually clamp my hand over her mouth.

“Shhh!” Helen just laughs harder.

“It’s a secret?” she manages to mumble around my hand, and I pull it away in mild disgust as her spit gets on me a bit.

“All those guys are going to come running in here again if you don’t keep your voice down,” I admonish, wiping my hand on my pants. “No, it’s not really a secret. I don’t think I’d be wearing the ring if it was. We’re just keeping it as quiet as possible for a few days so we have a chance to enjoy ourselves before everyone starts barraging us with questions.”

“But you _are_ engaged?” Annabeth asks, her eyes cartoon wide and shimmering with tears.

I can’t help but grin from ear to ear. “Yes.”

She looks like she’s going to scream again for a few moments before she launches herself at me, wrapping her arms around my waist. I stagger backward from the force of it all. She packs quite a punch for someone so small.

“I’m so happy for you!” she squeals, her voice muffled in my blouse. “It’s about time.”

I roll my eyes—we seem to be getting a lot of that, like we’re on some kind of time table.

“Took them long enough, didn’t it?” Helen asks, handing over her box of tissues.

“Oh, good God!” I exclaim as Annabeth disentangles herself. “Why is everyone saying that?”

Annabeth and Helen exchange incredulous looks. “Really? You can ask that?”

“We half expected you to come back from Hawaii already married,” Helen adds.

“That would have been ridiculously fast,” I protest.

She just shrugs. “Haven’t you known each other for a million years?”

“It’s not like we’ve been together for that long, and even if we had been, there’s no rush to get married.”

Annabeth takes a tissue and dabs at her face, giving me a look. “So, are you two going to be engaged for another decade before finally making it official?”

“Josh was right,” I mumble, rubbing my forehead. “We should have eloped.”

“Don’t you dare!” Helen gasps, looking genuinely horrified.

“Our mothers would kill us,” I answer. Still, part of me can see the appeal. It would almost have been easier for us to walk in on Monday and announce we’d gotten married.

I’m yanked toward the couch suddenly, Annabeth doing her best to pull my arm out of the socket. “Tell me everything,” she demands, giving me a shove onto the couch before sitting next to me. Helen immediately sits on the other side, boxing me in. “When’s the wedding? Where is it going to be? And can I come?”

“My mom suggested Wisconsin, and his mom suggested Florida, and neither of those appeal to us, so I don’t know where or when. We were probably going to talk about it some this weekend.” Mostly, we’re hoping to have a couple of days to ourselves, but there will probably be some wedding talk. “Of course we want you there. Both of you.”

“Well, then tell me how it happened,” Annabeth demands. “Did he rent out a restaurant? Fill a room with flowers? Skywriting?”

“I’m fairly certain everyone on the eastern seaboard would know about the engagement if that were the case,” I answer with a laugh. Josh really is incredibly romantic, or at least he can be, and if doing any of those things had felt like the right way to propose, he wouldn’t have hesitated. Instead, it was completely impulsive but somehow slightly premeditated.

“So…” Helen prompts, nodding her head, and I suddenly remember I was in the middle of telling her earlier. “You were walking home after dinner…”

I sigh, feeling tingles run through me as I remember it. “We were walking home after eating at this little hole-in-the-wall place we love—plus, his detail likes it, too, because it’s easy to secure—and we were talking about nothing important, I think. Most of the salient details escape me now. But he just stopped walking and told me how much he loves me, which would seem suspicious except he has these moments every so often where it hits him and he just has to say it, and I never mind hearing it, and before I could move, he was down on one knee, pulling out a ring box, telling me that I was his whole world and that I make him happy…” My voice trails off as I tear up, my insides constricting painfully as I remember the proposal. A tissue appears in my hand and I chuckle wetly as I dab at my face. “And then he asked me. It was completely perfect.”

“Well, that sounds absolutely lovely,” Helen says, her voice sounding a little thick.

Annabeth sniffles again. “So…no big gesture? Just on the sidewalk like that?”

I can’t help but laugh. “Asking me to spend forever with him was a big enough gesture for me.”

“Same here,” Helen adds. “Matt tried to surprise me but something popped up every time. It was like a bad farce. Half the time I was oblivious to the whole thing. Finally, he just asked me one morning when we were sitting down to have breakfast. None of that other stuff mattered.”

Annabeth actually harrumphs. “Well, I want all that big stuff—balloons, flowers, private restaurant, the works.”

Helen just laughs. “Just make sure the lucky guy knows ahead of time—whoever it is will probably go above and beyond your expectations.”

“The most amazing part is that he hadn’t planned to do it yesterday—he’s just been walking around with an engagement ring in his pocket for months.”

The two of them gape at me, their mouths opening and closing like goldfish. Annabeth grabs my wrist, yanking my bejeweled hand toward her again. “He had _this_ on him for months?!”

“Apparently. I believe it, too, because there was nothing out of the ordinary at the restaurant that got botched, and our apartment looked normal when we got home, so he hadn’t been planning anything there, either. He said he was just trying to find the perfect moment and…he did.” I sniffle again, trying to blot my tears with my tissue. I need to pull myself together; excited or not, I’m at work and I need to try to be a little professional.

“Tell her the best part of the ring,” Helen says, nudging my side.

“Oh! It was his grandmother’s. She managed to hold onto it when she escaped to American during World War II.” Helen gasps—I hadn’t gotten to that part yet. Indeed, it was quite a while last night before Josh remembered to mention that part. All the more reason this particular piece of jewelry is priceless.

I hear more sniffing and when I look up, they’re both teary-eyed. “He gave you his grandmother’s ring,” Annabeth whimpers.

“I know,” I answer, rubbing the band with my thumb. It’ll be a while before I get used to feeling it there. “It’s incredible. It’s such a piece of his family’s history. I’m floored that he wanted to give it to me.” I’m honored, truthfully. The ring belonged to Alice’s mother, and Alice was the one who though Josh might want to give it to me; he told me that she knew I’d like that it has a history. It means a lot to me that she trusts me with her mother’s ring.

…I wonder how long it’ll be before I consider it my ring and not Josh’s grandmother’s.

“That’s…” Annabeth says, her voice trailing off.

“Intense,” Helen finishes, looking amazed. “That thing survived the Holocaust.”

“Well, fortunately, I don’t think his mom’s parents were ever in an internment camp, but more or less, yes, in a manner of speaking.”

They stare at my hand in awe, and I understand why—it’s kind of incredible. I’m sure the next time I see or talk to Alice, I’ll be able to get more details.

Annabeth makes a noise and jumps up, wiping furiously at her face. “Oh, my God—I have a meeting in a couple of minutes! They’re going to think someone died.” She leans in, hugging me tightly. “Can we talk more soon? I want to know about all of it. I want to hear about the wedding dress of your dreams and what kind of wedding you want and—oh! I’m just so happy for you two!” She squeezes me again before turning and hurrying out of the office, making sure to close the door behind her. Helen snickers.

“I _never_ would have pegged her for the sort to obsess over wedding details. Once you get used to the voice, she’s all business.”

I smile in return. “Apparently, and I wasn’t here the year she did this, she walked around one Valentine’s Day spreading cheer, singing love songs, and handing out cards and candy to everyone.”

“So, she’s a closeted love-aholic.”

“Something like that,” I answer with a laugh. “I suppose she has a tough enough time being taken seriously as it is; if everyone knew she was a romantic, she’d never hear the end of it.”

Helen leans back against the couch with a smile, giving me her assessing look. “So…you’re actually getting married. How does it feel?”

“Surreal,” I answer immediately. “It shouldn’t. It shouldn’t be this big of a thing at this point, but it is. I’m…I’m feeling a million different things right now. It’s hard to process it all, really. I know it means everything is going to change even though the biggest difference between now and then is a piece of paper.” I sigh and tuck my hair behind my ear, locking down at my lap. “Can I ask you a stupid question?”

“Donna, you can ask me anything.”

I sigh again, feeling very dumb for even bringing it up but… “What’s it like being married?”

“Hard,” she answers immediately. “I wish I could give you a more sugar-coated answer, but no one ever told me that part before I got married. Granted, Matt and I didn’t get to officially live together until we got married—our families are pretty devoutly Catholic and his mother had a tough enough time accepting that he’d fallen love with a white woman, never mind a very blonde white woman. She still makes the sign of the cross when she thinks I’m not looking.” I chuckle a little and Helen smiles in return.

“We stayed together before we got married and during the last couple of months of our engagement we started the process of moving in together, but we couldn’t get away with it entirely. You and Josh are probably in a better position for all the being married stuff than Matt and I were. Nothing opens your eyes to who someone truly is like living together, and being freshly married, we had no escape. At least the two of you have done that part for a while—there won’t be as many surprises.”

“I don’t think there will be _any_ surprises,” I answer. “Josh has seen it all by this point and I think I’ve seen everything he has, too.” At least, I have to hope so.

“I guess the nothing fights are the worst. I’m sure you have those now, but something about fighting when you’re married is different. You don’t have somewhere to retreat to when it gets to be too much. Stupid things fester, too, until you explode over a sock left on the floor and then you don’t speak for three days.”

“Well…that sounds…terrible. Is there anything good about marriage, or should we back out while we can?”

She smiles, shrugging. “It’s hard, but it’s awesome. I get to be with the person that makes me happier than anyone else ever has. He’s my best friend. Seeing his face next to mine in the morning—though that’s rarer with his current job, I must say—gives me such a thrill, like it’s the first time I’ve ever seen him. I love him more every day. He gave me two beautiful children. I know there’s nowhere else in the world I’d rather be than with him. I’d rather everyday for the rest of my life with Matt was hard than have it easy with someone else.

“Marriage takes work, Donna—you have to want it like you’ve never wanted anything else—but it’s so worth it. It’s like parenthood, which I’m sure you’ll find out about soon enough. Both of those things test you and push you to the edge, but at the end of the day, even if I’m still upset about something, I’m still happy that it’s my life. It’s kind of great.”

“So, basically, I have no idea until I’m in it.”

She puts one finger on her nose and points at me. “You got it. The upside is that Josh adores you. He’s crazy in love with you—that much has been obvious forever—but the man would walk through fire for you. He’d eat glass for you. Hell, he’d probably switch parties if it’d make you happy. I think your life together is off to an excellent start.” He smile softens and she leans in to nudge my shoulder with hers. “Donna, you’ve risen to every occasion and challenge that’s come your way; marriage isn’t something you should get too worried about. You’re going to have Josh with you for it and even though I don’t always understand it, you seem to love him an awful lot. I’m sure that the two of you will be able to get through anything else life happens to throw at you. I think you’re going to really like being married. You’re going to like referring to Josh as your husband almost as much as you’ll like hearing him say you’re his wife.

“I know you’re going to have a lot coming at you soon—even when you want to keep it simple, planning a wedding can be a nightmare, and I don’t imagine there’s any way your wedding will be a quiet affair at this point. Enjoy this part as much as you can before the world catches on, okay? Show off your engagement ring and bask in the excitement of it all. It’s fun.”

“Thank you,” I answer softly, squeezing her fingers for a few seconds before remembering who I’m talking to and where. “I needed to hear all that. Josh and I actually wanted to try to sneak away for the weekend and spend some time together before the vultures start to circle—the vultures bring our mothers—turn off our phones, or only answer if there’s a national emergency, but we know we have to play it by ear—”

“I’ll talk to Matt,” she says instantly. “I’ll make sure he leaves you alone for the weekend. Oh—wait.” She makes a face. “Does he even know yet?”

I shrug. “No idea. Josh said he was going to try to mention it this morning but I have no idea how that would fit in between matters foreign and domestic.”

“You said Josh has been grinning like an idiot, right? I’m sure someone has called it to his attention. He probably hasn’t been able to contain himself, anyway.”

“I’m assuming he’ll let me know when he’s told the President,” I answer with a smirk, the thought of Josh being so excited to get married that he’d probably blurt it out in the middle of his morning meeting with the President of the United States so very entertaining.

“Possibly, or Matt is going to be so thrilled that he’ll come barreling over here to congratulate you. Just don’t be surprised if his wedding gift is to offer you a job in his office.”

“Well, it’d certainly meet the gift-giving guidelines.”

She smiles at me fondly and I nod a little, both of us knowing we have to actually get to work. “If it turns out that Matt knows about the engagement, I’ll see what I can do about getting the two of you out a little early today.”

“You don’t have to—you know what? Thank you.”

She grins as we stand, holding her arms out slightly. I take the invitation and pull her into a hug. “Seriously—congratulations. I really am very happy for you.”

“Thank you, Helen,” I answer, giving her a little squeeze before stepping back. I take a few steps to the door and pause, shaking my head a moment later. I take two more steps and stop again, hearing the First Lady chuckle behind me.

“Practicing your moves for your first dance already?”

I turn back to her and laugh a little, suddenly feeling awkward. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Of course.”

“It might be incredibly inappropriate.”

“Even better.”

“No! Not like—I mean because you’re my boss _and_ the First Lady, and maybe it’ll put you in an awkward position.”

“Okay, now I’m getting worried.”

“I was just wondering—you’re one of my friends, right? I’d consider you one of my closest friends, actually, despite the whole boss/employee thing.”

“Donna, what—”

“Would you be one of my bridesmaids?” Her mouth drops open in shock. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have asked that, right? It’s way out of line.”

“You want me to be in your wedding?”

“CJ’s already agreed to be my maid of honor, but I…it would mean the world to me to have you standing up there, too. You’ve done so much for me the last couple of years and I feel like we’ve both grown so much and I know it’s because I’ve had your help and I like to hope the feeling’s mutual—”

“Donna.” I slam my mouth shut, hoping not to put my foot in it further. “I’d be honored. Truly.” Relief floods through me—not too many months ago, I was reluctant to call Helen my friend, worried that it would look bad to the outside world, but the truth of it is that I’m closer to her than I am to nearly anyone else. We absolutely get all of our work done, but we spend a lot of time just chatting, not something I thought a lot about until after our trip overseas last spring; that’s when I started calling her Helen instead of Mrs. Santos. That’s also when I realized just because I used her last name didn’t mean we weren’t already friends. I think that’s actually made our working relationship successful. If nothing else, the fact that I couldn’t wait to tell Helen about the engagement should speak volumes.

She claps her hand over her mouth suddenly, and I’m surprised to see her eyes filling with tears. “Sorry,” she sniffles. “I didn’t expect to get so emotional.” She reaches out and gathers me into her arms. “Thank you.”

“No, thank _you_ ,” I answer, feeling myself choke up. It’s an oddly emotional experience asking someone to stand up with you at your wedding. I suppose when I spoke to CJ last night, I chalked it all up to having just gotten engaged. When she asked me, it didn’t entirely hit me how big of a deal it a few hours later, and I had to call her back and tell her how much it meant to me that she wanted me next to her. I suppose because Helen doesn’t have a lot of friends in the area, it might mean even more to her at this point. “I don’t have any biological sisters so…I’m sorry, that was stupid. I shouldn’t have said that.”

She gives me a little squeeze. “You mean you _don’t_ think of me as your sister?” she teases, sitting back.

“No. I mean yes! I mean…ugh. I’ve never had a sister so I don’t know what it’s like, but you and CJ are probably closest I have to that. I mean, I have two sisters-in-law but I don’t really know them that well. My oldest brother started dating his wife in college, which was nowhere near Madison, and I was just barely in high school. My little brother married his wife after I’d moved here. They’re both nice enough, don’t get me wrong; we’re just not close.” I shrug helplessly—before now, I’d never thought of CJ or Helen in terms of siblings as opposed to friends, but maybe that’s what they are. The three of us have never grouped up, but CJ and I talk to each other about nearly everything under the sun, more so now than we did when we worked together. With Helen, it’s like we have a kinship—the men in our lives happen to be two of the most powerful in the world and who better to understand what that’s like? We can relate to each other, at least to a degree. It’s nice to have someone who’s a fellow work widow, and even though I don’t get it from the married point of view, she doesn’t entirely get it from the point of view of someone who lives and breathes politics. Different perspectives, but it binds us together in a lot of ways. I’d definitely say that Helen, and the rest of the Santos’, really, are family.

She makes a face suddenly. “What are you going to tell Annabeth? Do you think she might be crushed?”

I cringe—I’ve already considered that and I’m fairly certain she might react unfavorably. “I guess that’s going to depend on Josh to a degree. He knows he’s going to ask Sam to be a groomsman for sure, and he’s sort of on the fence but I think he’s going to ask Toby, too. I don’t know if he as plans for a third or if we’re going to stick to two. I’ve see some weddings with uneven numbers so that could be a possibility. I’d hate to leave her out of it, honestly.” In that moment, I can understand how weddings can get out of control so quickly—it’s really easy to not want to hurt or disappoint someone and just agree to anything.

“Well, I’m sure that if he’s told him, Matt is already trying to strong arm Josh into letting him be part of the ceremony.”

I chuckle; that sounds about right, knowing what I know about President Santos. “We had an email from the Bartlets this morning and it seems that the former President wants to perform the ceremony. I don’t think we could turn him down if we wanted to.”

Helen throws her head back and laughs. “That’s all the precedent Matt’s going to need.” She wipes at her eyes and stands. “Okay, go. Get some work done. As soon as it’s safe, I’ll call my husband and tell him to leave you two alone for the weekend.”

“Thank you,” I answer as I stand, reaching out to squeeze her fingers again. “And…thank you.”

She blinks furiously and squeezes my hand for a second before pointing at the door. “Go!”

I grin as I make my way to my desk, not at all surprised to find my direct line ringing and Josh’s name on the screen. I’m guessing the President knows about the engagement and is on his way over.

It’s going to be an interesting day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I can’t believe I forgot to post this when I posted the story to begin with. I mean, WOW. I really like this chapter and this might explain why no one ever mentioned anything about it. I had that moment of Annabeth screaming about the ring in my head for such a long time before I ever wrote this. Man…I hope at least a few of you get to read this.


	4. Chapter 4

I become aware of the sound of the rain first.

Next, it’s the feeling of Josh’s fingers running softly over the side of my breast.

I sigh and smile, my eyes fluttering open. The room is dim, the sky outside the window gray and bleak, and the rain splatters on the glass.

“Morning,” Josh says quietly. I turn my eyes toward him, feeling my smile grow wider. He’s propped up just a little, a couple of pillows shoved under his should as he faces me. His fingers never cease their steady, gentle motions.

“Hi,” I answer, my voice low. I stretch a little, taking care not to dislodge his hand. “Enjoying yourself there?”

He smiles a little and shifts closer to me, his fingers spreading out across my skin. I shiver a little, realizing the blankets are pooled around our waists and, unless Josh has been up and about before this, we’re both completely naked.

I move a little closer, bringing my hand up to run over his shoulder, grinning as my engagement ring comes into view. This whole thing is so new that I have trouble remembering that my life has changed so much. In fairness, we’ve been engaged for all of thirty six hours.

“This bed is really comfortable,” I mumble, my eyes falling shut. “You found a nice place for us.”

“If our bed was this soft, I’d never leave it,” he agrees, and I don’t take it personally. I’d like to think just having me there would keep him in bed all day—and it certainly has at times—but I know it’s mostly a figure of speech. He typically has too much energy to just stay in bed like that.

On the other hand, any time we’re on some sort of vacation, he’s able to wind down considerably, lounging around or staying in bed for much longer stretches than he would at home.

“All this rain makes me want to go back to sleep,” I murmur.

“Mmm,” he answers. “Go for it.”

It’s tempting. God knows we don’t get enough sleep most of the time, and since the rain started falling on our way out to the bed and breakfast yesterday afternoon, everything has felt slow and hazy. It’s certainly not wasted time if we’re spending it together. “What time is it?”

“A little after eight.”

My eyes open in surprise. While that’s not at all late, we rarely sleep past seven. I don’t even want to imagine how long he’s been up at this point. “I’m awake,” I tell him, trying to stifle my yawn. “How long have you been up?”

He shrugs, his fingers resuming their stroking. “A while, I guess. Just marveling over my future wife.”

Such a rush goes through me at that. His _wife_. It’s such a wonderful notion, and I’m still trying wrap my head around the fact that it’s taken us almost two years of this relationship to get to this point, especially when it feels so right.

I stroke the back of his neck for a moment before pulling him toward me and kissing him soundly. He grins into my mouth, pulling back a fraction a few moments later. “Someone needs to brush her teeth,” he whispers.

I whack him on the shoulder. “You’re such an ass.”

He chuckles and kisses me again before stretching across me to the nightstand on my side of the bed. He holds up the two little mints that were on our pillows when we checked in last night, somehow managing to balance on one elbow to unwrap them. He grins and pops them both in his mouth.

“Wow,” I say. “You’re really going to keep as much for yourself as you can before you’re legally required to share everything with me. Some hhhhhusband you’re going to be.” I make sure to breathe in his face so he can fully comprehend my dissatisfaction. He winces a little but still presses his mouth to mine. _His_ breath is minty and pleasant.

He settles himself mostly on top of me, kissing me thoroughly enough that the mints wind up in my mouth. Not the first time we’ve shared a breath mint, actually, though it’s usually by accident. It seems to gross people out when they realize what’s happened. Apparently, it’s even worse when we share gum. If it happens by accident while kissing, it’s somehow deemed adorable. However, when Josh is chewing gum and I happen to be in the mood for a piece and he has none left, he’s been known to hand me his and I’ve taken it without even thinking. Sam caught that one time and almost threw up, and that was the first time either of us realized we’d done it, and wondered how often we’d done it before. Truthfully, I probably would have balked at doing that with anyone else, but considering some of the other things we do with our mouths, sharing a mint or a piece of gum is probably the least of our concerns.

Josh breaks away with a sigh, rubbing his nose against mine for a few moments before rolling off me. I immediately turn onto my side, curling into him. I rest my hand on his chest, watching my diamond twinkle in the dim room.

“I know it’s not all about the ring—actually, I know it’s not even a little about the ring—but I love it so much.”

He chuckles, the sound rumbling under my ear. “I’m glad. Even back when I first saw it, it felt like you.” He brings up his hand, stroking my fingers gently. “I’m just so happy we’re doing this.”

“What—getting married, or hiding out in the woods of Maryland for a few days?”

He laughs again. “Both. Did I tell you my mom sent about a dozen emails between the time we hung up with her on Thursday and the time we left yesterday afternoon?”

“Oh, God—really?”

“It seems she has thoughts on everything—the music, locations, if our ceremony should be traditional in the Jewish faith or more contemporary to reflect our ‘mixed’ marriage, who should perform the ceremony…”

I make a noise and bury my face in his neck. Yep; the vultures are already circling. “My mom’s emailed a bunch of times, too, actually. I can only imagine how many times they’ve called each other since then.”

His arm slides down to my waist, holding me closer. “The true test of their friendship—if they can survive the planning of our wedding without any major fights or meltdowns and still like each other when it’s all said and done.”

“Have I mentioned yet how grateful I am you booked us a place that has minimal cell service and no wifi?”

“Not since last night. Hell, I’m just grateful we found a place at all. I completely forgot Labor Day was Monday and that everything would be booked.” We both sigh, lying there quietly for a few moments. The rain outside our window sounds louder now. I’m sure there are a lot of pissed off vacationers, upset that their last weekend of “summer” is being ruined, but it doesn’t bother me in the slightest. We have nowhere to be.

“Are you sure you want to do all this?” His voice is soft but it echoes around the room like a gun shot. I’m sure he can feel my heart start pounding out of control. My mouth dries out and my throat closes up.

“Are you asking…are you saying you don’t want to get married? Josh…”

He squeezes me tighter. “I just mean do you want the whole big production. I absolutely want to get married. Don’t doubt that for a moment.”

My heart’s still racing and I have to force myself to unclench. “You’re sure?”

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he promises. “I didn’t think about how that was going to sound before I said it. I most definitely want to marry you.”

Relief courses through me. Maybe it was a ridiculous thing to panic about, but I’ve never felt so horrified in my life. “So you’re just asking…what?”

“I’m asking if you want to bother with the whole dog-and-pony show. We could just, you know, get married now.”

I blink a few times, slowing pushing myself up on my elbow. “Josh, are you asking me if I want to elope?”

“I guess you could call it that,” he answers, propping myself up, too. “I’d call it getting married on our terms.”

“Would it really be on our terms if we’re doing it to avoid dealing with our mothers?”

His cheek quirks up and he sighs. “I guess you have a point.”

“Besides, Maryland has a forty-eight hour waiting period for a marriage license.”

“It does? How do you know that?”

“I know a lot of things, Josh.” Truthfully, I’ve put a little thought into us running off together. Nothing too serious, but I liked knowing what our options are.

“Okay, so we wouldn’t have to do it in Maryland if we don’t want to wait. We could go up to Pennsylvania if you wanted, it’s not that far.”

“Three days for the license and it has to be issued two to three weeks before the ceremony.”

His eyebrows life in surprise. “That seems harsh. And also…” He trails off, shaking his head at me. “Or, we’re not that far from West Virginia, either. Hell, we have all weekend—we could go to DC or Virginia if we wanted.”

“Well, there’s no waiting period in West Virginia, but _you’re_ going to have to tell people we got married in West Virginia, not to mention all the disgusting jokes about marrying your cousin or sister or whatever.” He makes a face, so I continue. “DC has a three day waiting period and you can bet your ass if we filed for a license in DC, the entire world would know about it. Virginia doesn’t have a waiting period.” I fun my fingers across his chest thoughtfully. “Is that what you want? To get married now?”

“Honestly, Donna, I want what you want. As long as we’re married at the end of it, the rest is incidental.”

“And you’re ready to get married now?”

“Of course. Why?”

“Well, it just always seems like guys need more time. They ask the question but need the months or years in between to acclimate.”

He shrugs, sliding his hand across my waist. “I asked because I’m ready now, not because I think I’ll be ready in six months or a year.”

“Why are you so wonderful?”

He grins at me smugly, his dimples making deep crevices in his cheeks. “Aren’t you lucky to be marrying someone so wonderful?”

I can’t help but snort in disgust. “Your modesty is overwhelming.”

“Look, I don’t know about other guys. All I know is me and us and I’m ready when you are. I’m really starting to see that I could have asked you a year ago and I would have been ready then, too. So, we can just pick a day and go do it, or we can do an actual wedding. Either is fine with me. I want you happy.”

Somehow, my love for him grows. I can feel it actually expanding inside of me. I honestly don’t know how it’s possible. I would think that I’d crack open from the sheer volume.

Also, I have to admit that his offer is tempting. I don’t hate the idea of just being married, sooner rather than later, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him we should just do it, but…I also can’t help but remember my college graduation a few months ago. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it and almost didn’t even go to the ceremony. My family wanted to make a thing of it and I barely let them throw me a party.

I’m only planning on getting married once. While part of me likes the idea of simplicity and having it just be done, there’s an even bigger part of me that really wants to celebrate. I want to have our first dance. I want our friends and family to be there. Hell, I want to wear the big white dress.

“What?” he asks, squeezing my hip. “What are you thinking?”

I shrug, smiling at him sheepishly. “I kind of want a thing.”

“Okay.”

“I know it’s kind of a waste of money, but I think we deserve to celebrate.”

“All right.”

“I mean, look at how long it took us to get here. It’s worth making a big deal out of it.”

“Donna!” He grins at me, pinching my side gently. “I said okay. Let’s do it. We’ll have a big party. I’m good with that. Like I said, as long as we’re married at the end of it, I’m good with anything. Besides,” he lowers his voice conspiratorially. “Our mothers would actually kill us if we deprive them of a wedding. My mother would never forgive either of us.”

I actually cringe. “You’re right, and I definitely like being on your mom’s good side.” Honestly, I can’t imagine a world where she dislikes me…other than if I deprive her of an actual wedding. I don’t think I could produce enough grandchildren to make up for that.

He grins, leaning in to kiss me. “Okay, so, actual wedding. Now that we have that settled, do you want to talk about—”

I put my hand on his lips, silencing him. “Let’s not talk about this here.”

He looks puzzled, like a confused puppy. “But—”

“In bed,” I clarify. “Let’s wait until we’re up and showered and have eaten breakfast. I feel like once we start talking about our wedding, we won’t be able to stop until it’s all over, so let’s just…take this time for us, at least for the next hour or so.”

“Sounds good to me.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and scoots toward me. When I don’t protest, he wraps himself around me, pressing me into the mattress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editing is slow going—finding time can be rough…at times. Anyway, I think what’s left of this will be just one more chapter. Thanks for sticking with it! I can’t tell you how long some of this stuff was rolling around in my head until I finally put it down on paper. Annabeth jumping and screaming was something I could picture FOREVER.


	5. Chapter 5

We don’t get very far after that. The rain has only gotten heavier and with Josh’s security detail that came with us, even in good weather wandering around might have been dicey. Instead, we got to enjoy the “breakfast” part of our stay after taking a long, hot, mostly innocent shower together. Since then we’ve only managed to get as far as the main common area, squeezing ourselves into one of those armchairs that’s too big for one person but too small for two people, opting to drape ourselves over each other. Being newly engaged seems to bring out the ridiculously affectionate in us. I even brought a notebook with me so we could jot down any ideas that come to us.

So far, Josh has spent the better part of an hour running his fingers through my hair, so the only thing I’ve accomplished is staying awake.

“I love you,” he whispers, pressing his lips to my cheek.

“I love you, too,” I answer softy.

We’re quiet for another few minutes. “Did Annabeth really scream when she saw the ring?”

I can’t help but snicker. “Oh, yeah. Ask Helen when we get back. Half a dozen Secret Service agents came running in, guns drawn. It’s funny in retrospect but I had no idea what was going on at the time.”

“I wish I could have been there.”

“She looked like she’d seen a ghost.”

“I guess she’s excited for us.”

All I can do is snort in response.

“What about Helen?” he asks, sounding almost uncertain. “Was she, you know, happy for us?”

I turn a little, running my hand down his cheek. His relationship with the First Lady has been…tenuous since before we even got into office. She doesn’t hate Josh, and her respect for his abilities has grown by leaps and bounds over the last couple of years, but they tend to butt heads a lot. Still, he knows that she and I are close, and he knows that the President wouldn’t choose to spend his life with someone horrible, and he does actually respect her. Her opinion matters to him, for better or for worse.

“She’s happy for us, too. She’s questioning my sanity, I think, but she’s happy for us.”

“Well, Donna, I’m questioning your sanity, too. You’re voluntarily spending the rest of your life with me.”

“Goes both ways, honey. You know how nuts I can be and you still decided to ask me to marry you.”

“Well, at least we’ll get to be crazy together, right?” He rubs my head for a few more seconds. “The First Lady is happy, huh?”

“Of course she is. The President was thrilled, wasn’t he?”

“Ecstatic,” he confirms. “I swear there were stars in his eyes. He might have been more excited than Sam.”

If I didn’t know Matt Santos as well as I do now, I’d find that hard to believe—because Sam was near tears he was so happy for us. I wish I could have been there when Josh told the President, though I suppose his reaction wasn’t all that different than ten minutes later when he came barreling into my office and wrapped me in a bear hug.

“He was crushed when I told him President Bartlet had already commandeered the role of officiant.”

“I bet,” I answer with a laugh.

“I think he’s angling to be in the wedding, actually.”

“Wouldn’t that be something? A former president performing our ceremony and the sitting president as a groomsman. Add in the current first lady as one of my bridesmaids…”

He squeezes my waist a little and I turn just a bit to face him. “You asked her? Good. You seemed on the fence about it the other night.”

“Not about wanting her to be in the wedding—just about whether it’d be appropriate to ask. She was touched, though, and said yes right away.”

He leans in and kisses my jaw. “So, you have CJ and Helen—anyone else?”

“That depends on how many you have on your side, really.”

“Isn’t it usually the other way around?”

I roll my eyes. “Well, you have Sam—I know that’s a foregone conclusion—and possibly the President. What about—”

“Toby called me yesterday. He wanted to congratulate us and told me that before I had any cute ideas about asking him to be a part of the wedding, he didn’t think it’d be the best idea for him to be part of such a high profile event, at least not something that would involve so much of the current administration.”

I cringe but nod in understanding—I hate that he feels that way, and I hate even more that he’s not entirely wrong, though not necessarily about anyone actually in the White House. The President isn’t upset with Toby, and seeing as how President Bartlet was the one who handed down the pardon a couple of years ago, I think that particular hatchet has been buried. Still, the perception of Toby by the people around town may not be the most positive. To this day, I have no idea if he was the leak—I haven’t asked and he’s never offered that information. While, objectively, I realize that whoever the leak was did in fact commit a crime, considering the intent was to save lives, I can’t bring myself to feel like something wrong was done—one of the many reasons I’ve stayed out of it. We still see Toby, though less frequently than we’d like. He still comes down to see the twins but he’s doing well at Columbia; he just mostly tries to stay away from drawing any sort of attention to himself or anything he thinks could possibly reflect negatively on the Santos administration.

“Well, maybe we can work on him. Maybe it was just a kneejerk reaction.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Josh answers softly. I stroke his cheek gently, giving him a quick kiss. He sighs and pulls himself out of it.

I clear my throat. “So, other than the President, did you have someone else in mind? Several someones maybe?”

He opens his mouth and hesitates, then laughs and shakes his head. “You’re going to think I’m nuts.”

“That ship has sailed, honey.”

“Best fiancée ever,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He pinches my hip and makes me squirm. “I was thinking about Lou, actually.”

“Lou?” I have to stop think about it, unable to remember any guys named Lou until it clicks. “Louise Thornton? Seriously?”

“That’s stupid, isn’t it?”

“No, I think it’s kind of great.”

“Really? You don’t think it’s weird to have a woman on the groom’s side?”

I shrug, falling in love with the idea. “I think it’s a very old-fashioned notion that a bride will only have friends that are women and a groom only knows guys. I think it’s more important that the people who mean something in your life are up there with you. Do you think she’d go for it?”

“Don’t know. We’ve gotten to be friends over the last few years, even though we butt heads more often than not, but we’re usually on the same page with most things.”

“Well, if you want her in our wedding, I think you should at least try. If she says no, well...we’ll go from there. We can figure out if we need an even number on each side or if we want to completely forgo tradition.”

“Did you have someone else in mind?”

“Well, I thought about asking Annabeth. She and I have gotten pretty close, especially lately.”

“You don’t have to justify who means the most to you. If you want Annabeth in our wedding then she should be in our wedding.”

“Same with Lou. If you want her up there next to you, that’s all that matters.”

He tightens his grip on me, leaning in for a quick kiss. “So, I think we’ve figured out the easy part of this whole wedding thing.”

I sigh and nod. “I just have no idea where to start with the rest. I’ve never done anything resembling planning a wedding.”

“You’ve helped get men elected president—a wedding should be a piece of cake.”

“Cake,” I mumble, flipping open my notebook to the list of things we need to talk about. The list is already two columns deep. “Somehow, campaigning feels easier than planning a wedding.”

“We could get an actual planner. That’s a thing, right? There are people who dedicate their entire lives to planning events?”

“Yes, and it’s something we should probably do. With our jobs, if left to our own devices, it could be years before we get around to planning anything.”

“Yeah, and I don’t want to wait more years to marry you. I’ve waited long enough as it is.”

“Josh…” My voice chokes a little. When he says things like that, it nearly gives me palpitations, and really makes me wonder how and why we fought this for so long. I clear my throat and tap my list, trying to refocus. “We can ask our mothers to help. I’m sure they’d love that.”

“True, but the other side of that coin is that we’ll see them constantly in the process. Don’t get me wrong—I love the two of them dearly, but do you want one or both of them moving in with us for the duration? That’s a lot of the Lucy and Alice show. And, you know, if one of our moms wandered in while we were in the middle of sex—because you know how moms tend to not bother knocking—I don’t know that I’d ever be able to perform again.”

While I know that’s at least a partial exaggeration, I don’t like to entertain the idea that he’ll ever have any sort of performance anxiety. “So, we’ll just forget that idea. We can ask for input from them—maybe—but beyond that…because they’ll probably be flying in and out at an alarming rate as it is. We don’t need them around more than they will be.”

“So, that leaves us with a planner.”

I nod but roll my eyes. “Yeah. Good for us, we came to an obvious conclusion faster than most couples.”

“Okay, well, what else is easy to knock off the list? Where do you want to get married?”

“Can’t really decide that until we know when.”

“All right— _when_ do you want to get married?”

“Don’t know what until we decide where.”

“Donna,” he says, exasperated. “Come on. Are you going to tell me that not once in your life have you ever considered either of those questions?”

“Yeah, maybe, but the ideas I had when I was a kid haven’t exactly held up over the years. I don’t think one of those poofy creampuff dresses is something I’m going to be wearing at this point and, honestly, Josh, I’ve thought about marrying you for so long that by now I’ve envisioned every scenario.”

His face lights up but he tries to cover it with a cocky smirk. “Well, which one did you like the most?”

“The one where we were married at the end,” I answer, lifting my eyebrow at him.

“Helpful.”

“Well, like I said, I kind of pictured it a lot of ways. Not to inflate your ego too much right now, but you’re the only one I’ve been able to see at the other end of the aisle for years, even when I never wanted to hope or believe that anything could possibly happen between us. I’ve imagined small weddings and big weddings, destination weddings, church weddings, courthouse weddings, fancy, simple, black tie, jeans, whatever. The only constant has been marrying you.”

“Years, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“I’m just saying…”

“Knock it off. Don’t make fun of me. Sorry I childishly pined after you for so many years.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says softly, tightening his arms around my waist, pulling me gently against his chest. “I’m sorry. I’m teasing you because it’s a little overwhelming to know you’ve pictured marrying me for so long.”

“Well, don’t be mean to your fiancée,” I sulk. “You think it’s not embarrassing enough to know I had those thoughts all those years? Telling you is a million times worse.”

He puts his lips against my ear, making me tingle. “Does it help at all to know that, even if I didn’t always think in terms of marriage, I always pictured you in my life? I just kind of figured we’d be together forever, one way or another.”

“Yeah, I suppose that helps a little.” He kisses the back of my neck. “That helps, too.”

He sighs, squeezing me again. “So, back to the wedding stuff.”

“Well, I guess we should start with things we know.”

“Do we know anything, though? Other than the part with just wanting to be married?”

“We mostly know who we want to be in the wedding, so that’s something. Oh! We also know we need to give it a few months because CJ is ridiculously pregnant right now—for sure she can’t travel across the country any time soon, and she’ll probably need some time before she wants to travel, with or without the baby.” I pause for a second, feeling an odd flip low in my stomach at the talk of babies. Kids aren’t something Josh and I have talked a lot about—just in a general sense. I don’t know if my biological clock is ticking louder than usual because one of my closest friends is expecting her first child or if it always ticks this loudly with Josh and I’m only just starting to realize what it all means. All I know is that the idea is starting to become clearer. It’s still scary but it’s definitely easier to picture.

Maybe I’m imagining it, but it feels like there’s something reverent about the way he’s tracing his fingers over my stomach. I could be projecting, though it’s probably something we’re going to have to talk about sooner rather than later.

He clears his throat. “Yeah, I guess we can wait for CJ to give birth. So, what—that puts us at January at the earliest? Gives her time to recover and gets us through the holidays. Does the temperature outside matter?”

“Well, I’d rather it not be sweltering. Nothing like sweating in formal wear.”

“So, no to summer and…yes to formal?”

I pause to actually think about it. “Honestly, I don’t care what anyone else wears but I want you in a tux.”

“You like me in a penguin suit, huh?” he teases, bouncing his leg a little, jiggling me in the process.

“It may do some unwholesome things to me yes.”

“So, you’re going to be turned on during our wedding?”

I know he’s trying to tease me, but I think it’s affecting him more. “It’s not outside the realm of possibility.” I press myself into him, making him jump. “You don’t get all hot and bothered by the idea of me all dressed up?”

He sighs, lacing his fingers with mine. “God…you’re gonna be so amazing in a wedding dress.”

Well…I wasn’t expecting that. “What?”

“Hell, you look pretty amazing no matter what you wear, but I definitely have a soft spot for you all done up like that.”

I blink in surprise. “You do?” That’s news to me. I had no idea that me wearing fancy dresses made him take notice more than anything else I wear.

“God, yeah. You’re absolutely breathtaking in formal wear, and that first moment I see you walking down the aisle in whatever dress makes you happiest, I’m probably going to lose it. I like to think I’ll be able to keep it together but…when it comes to you…I’m going to be a mess.”

I have no words right now. I never knew Josh had given that part any thought at all, never mind that he’d be so moved that he’ll be one of those guys that cries when he gets his first look at his bride. “So…” I clear my throat when my voice cracks. “So, you want the dress to be a surprise?”

He nods vigorously. “Yes, please! I’m totally fine with not knowing anything about it.”

Seriously, just when I thought I knew all there was to know about Josh, he goes and gets sappy about the thought of me in a wedding dress. Will wonders never cease? I clear my throat again, trying to push away the lump that has suddenly appeared. “So, uh, surprise dress—got it. Not during the summer…” I actually make note of these things—making a list helps me to feel like I have some semblance of control, though I’m sane enough to realize it’s just an illusion. “So…spring? Or fall. Do you want to wait until next fall?”

“Uh, only if you do, but I’m hoping for a quicker turn around than that.”

“So, we’re looking at less than a year of planning. Probably something like six months. You know that’s going to be a lot, right? I mean, considering we have demanding jobs that mean we can’t dedicate our lives to planning a wedding.”

“We, we _can_ wait until next fall if you want to, or we have to or whatever. I don’t know anything about this stuff.” He sighs, playing with my fingers some more. “I guess we need to start with locations, though, right? I know you said we have to know when before where and yadda yadda yadda, but I’m sure we can circle around to some sort of idea.”

“I want to get married in DC,” I say definitively.

“You do?”

“I don’t want to go to Madison or Florida, even though it would thrill one of our mothers, but it’s not home. We don’t have to get married directly in the city, but I would prefer somewhere in that area.”

“I’m in. Completely, one hundred percent. Anyone who wants to be part of our day can come to us. Washington is our home. We should absolutely get married there.”

I don’t know why but Josh agreeing with that makes my heart feel a million times lighter. Maybe it’s having the start of a game plan—we know we want to get married where in the general lower Maryland/northern Virginia/DC area. That’s a place to start. There has to be dozens of places we can choose from. This is good.

“What about in the spring?” he asks suddenly, sounding excited. “During the cherry blossoms? I bet that’d make for some great photos.”

“Oh, honey, I love that idea, but so do hundreds of other people.”

I can feel him deflate and it breaks my heart a little. “What do you mean?”

“Think about how crowded the area is that time of year. People are everywhere. We’d probably have to reserve a place years ahead of time.”

“God—really?”

“I haven’t looked into it specifically, but lots of hotels and ballrooms are usually book with some sort of event.”

“Well, as it happens, I’m a very important, powerful man. If you want to get married in the spring, I’m sure _one_ of those places could suddenly be available.”

“Josh!” I elbow him in the ribs. “That’s horrible! You can’t bump someone else’s event for ours!”

“Well, what’s the point of having all this power if I can’t abuse it once in a while?”

I just sigh and shake my head—I’m mostly sure he’s kidding. He doesn’t typically abuse the power of his position, now _or_ during the Bartlet years, but when he does…it’s usually for something to do with me. “Even if I wanted you to do something like that—which I absolutely do not—there wouldn’t be any hotel rooms for family from out of town.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Still—I think you’d look amazing all dressed up in front of cherry blossoms.”

And there he is again, lobbing them out of left field. I don’t know how I could have missed it all these years, his thing with me being dressed up. I’ve never really doubted that he appreciated the way I looked dressed up, even before we got together; I’m not blind, and it was hard to miss the way his eyes would travel over me. But, knowing that he’s this enthralled by the idea of me in a wedding dress is not something I was prepared for.

“Well, I’m sure we can find a reasonable alternative, even if we get married at a different part of the spring. But, I do have another question for you—do you want a church wedding?”

He makes the quickest of faces before schooling his features. “Is that something you want?”

“Josh, this wedding isn’t all about me. You don’t want a church wedding—that’s fine. I certainly don’t have my heart set on that but if a church—well, synagogue—ceremony matters to you, then it matters to me.”

“When was the last time I went a synagogue?”

He does have a point. “Well, when was the last time I was in a church?”

He sighs sadly, tightening his arm around me. “Leo’s funeral.”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I’d forgotten that was the last time.” It’s amazing how big of a hole his death left in our lives, yet how largely his presence still looms over everything we do.

“I miss him so much,” Josh mumbles into my shoulder, and I quickly angle myself so I can wrap my arms around him.

“I know you do, honey. I know.”

“I think…he would have loved this, you know?”

“What? Us getting married?”

“Yeah. He would have gotten a kick out of watching me get all domesticated.”

“Because you were so hard to tame,” I tease.

He chuckles, and I feel a small amount of success. “Yeah, well, maybe I wasn’t some wild stallion roaming free on the plains, but I think the part where I fell so easily into all of this with you would have amused him.”

“Probably.”

“But I like to think he would have been happy for me, too—for us.”

“He would have. You were family to him. He would have been thrilled for you.”

“Hey, he liked you, too, you know.”

“I know, but it wasn’t the same. You knew him most of your life. I think if he was still around, he’d want to walk you down the aisle.”

He laughs again; it sounds a little watery but other than giving him another squeeze, I don’t acknowledge it. I let him take a few moments to compose himself. “He probably would,” Josh finally says. “I can picture him grinning from ear to ear…” His voice trails off and we sit in silence for a few long moments, remembering Leo McGarry.

Josh clears his throat finally and I shift off his lap, situating myself a little more comfortably. “Okay, so we’ll keep it nondenominational.”

“Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“Yeah—don’t you guys stomp on glass during weddings?”

He chuckles, running his hand up and down my leg. “At the end of the ceremony, yes, if I recall correctly. It’s been a long time since I went to a Jewish wedding but that part is pretty standard.”

I nod vigorously. “That. I want that.”

“Don’t you want to know what it means?”

“It doesn’t have one clear meaning,” I counter, calling his bluff. “Unless you’re morally opposed to it, I’d like to keep that part.”

He shrugs, a smile tugging at his lips. “Keep it. If you want me to cut my foot open on our wedding day, that’s fine with me.”

I roll my eyes and jot it down on the list, almost surprised to see that I’ve actually been keeping track of the other thoughts and ideas without realizing it. I tap my pen against the paper, biting my lip a little. “You know, it occurs to me that we’re probably going to have to talk to the Secret Service about this.”

“We are?”

“They’ll probably have an approved list of venues.”

“They will?”

“Josh, we’re going to have a former president and the sitting president at our wedding. We’re going to need security. Even if we kept this whole thing to twenty of our closest friends, we’d still need something secure.”

He blinks, looking a little shocked. “God, I guess you’re right. I guess I wasn’t thinking about either of them in a presidential capacity for this whole thing. That narrows it down a bit, doesn’t it?”

“Probably. The upside is that the locations will be nice and we’ll probably have our pick of dates.”

“You know,” he says slowly, “the President basically offered the White House for us.”

Even though I’m not terribly surprised, the works make me start anyway. “What do you mean ‘basically’?”

“He said we should think about using the White House,” Josh answers simply. “He said that he wanted the chance to one up Ellie Bartlet’s wedding.”

A White House wedding. That’s…daunting, to say the least. I can’t say the thought never occurred to me, though often in substantially less real ways. Mostly, it was just an idle fantasy I had from time to time during the Bartlet administration when I needed a pick-me-up—I had a huge crush on my boss. “Well…the White House would certainly be considered secure.”

“No kidding,” he snorts.

“And it would be guaranteed beautiful.”

“Also true.” He nudges me a little and I angle myself to face him. “Is this something we should consider? I mean, seriously consider? It might simplify things.”

I can’t help but snort in return. “Yeah, right. I can’t imagine how much more complicated parts of that would actually be. People sucking up for invitations, having to invite certain people so they don’t offended…”

“We don’t have to—”

“I’m not saying I don’t want to. Let’s face it—short of actually eloping, our wedding is going to wind up being an event of some kind. For better or worse, we’re public figures, you especially. You’re the President’s right hand man and you’ve been a political player for years. I’m sure there are going to be tons of people who want to witness the perpetually single Josh Lyman get married.”

“’Perpetually single?’” he exclaims, sounding offended.

“Up until me,” I concede.

“Still, I wasn’t always single before we started dating. I had girlfriends.”

“Nothing serious and the world knew it. Your girlfriends knew it, too. Some people will probably want to witness it with their own eyes.”

“You make me sound like some playboy bachelor.”

I actually laugh out loud. “What are you—Cary Grant? Who talks like that?”

“You’re not very supportive, woman. Isn’t a wife supposed to be, you know, supportive?”

“Sure, when her husband isn’t spouting crazy talk.”

He pokes me in the side. “At any rate, while I’m sure there will be plenty of people who want to come to our wedding for reasons other than celebrating, I don’t think anyone will want to make sure I don’t run away or something.”

“Josh, considering how you actively avoided long-term commitment and actually ending relationships in an adult fashion, I think people will, in fact, be placing bets. They’ll probably be placing bets on how long our marriage will last, too.”

“That’s disgusting,” he says, looking genuinely sick to his stomach.

“People are disgusting,” I confirm.

“Well, unless someone places a bet on until the day I die, I hope they’re prepared to lose a lot of money.”

I press a kiss to his jaw, rubbing my nose against him for a few seconds before sighing. “You know, if we get married at the White House, we’re going to lose a lot of control over the day.”

“Yeah?”

“CJ told me about Ellie’s wedding. Granted, a lot of the planning fell on Will Bailey, but even as the President’s daughter, she didn’t have a lot of say in the whole thing. We’ll probably get to pick the cake flavor and first dance but…”

He sighs, too. “That could be a lot to give up. It won’t be _our_ wedding in a lot of ways if we do that.”

“We’ll still be married at the end of it.”

“That’s true. That’s the important part.”

“And I’m sure as long as we save our demands for the things we really want, no one will have much of a problem with it.”

“Also, let’s not forget that even though we’d be giving up a lot of decisions about the whole thing, someone else would be planning it.”

Somehow, that hadn’t occurred to me yet. My fiancé is a genius. “Well, I like that.”

“So…”

“So…we’ll explore that option. I don’t feel like either of us is ready to commit to the White House wedding, but we should find out more before we discard it completely.”

“That’s fair. We’ll talk to the President when we get back and see where we should go from there.”

“It could be kind of great, you know?”

“Getting married where we work?” he teases.

“Well, when you put it that way…”

“Seriously, it’s not the worst idea. No one would be able to use the ‘we got lost’ excuse to miss the wedding. Plus, we have so much history there that at least it’s a place that means something to us.”

I nod, squeezing his forearm. We have a plan. We have a place to start. That fills me with instant relief. I don’t care at the moment if this is the direction we wind up going in—I feel better knowing we have a jumping off point.

“One thing I do want to talk about—while I’m thinking about it and while it’s still early.”

I lift my eyebrow at him questioningly. “Sounds serious.”

“It’s not. Not really, but it’s important. Well, important to me but not a matter of national security or something—”

“You’re wandering.”

“Yeah. You know how when people get married, there’s stuff like gravy boats and china patterns and towels and punch bowls and salt and pepper shakers?”

I stare at him blankly for at least thirty seconds before my brain unravels what he’s trying to say. “You mean those things normal people call gifts?”

“Uh huh. Those. I don’t think we should do that.”

I can’t help but grin in amusement. “You don’t think we should do presents?”

He gives me a worried look. “All that stuff is for people who are just starting out, you know? We have all that stuff. I mean, I’m assuming we have a gravy boat—I really don’t know. But it feels pointless to go through the whole gift registry process so people can buy us stuff we don’t need. I mean, I realize there are going to be a few people who we won’t be able to stop but—”

“I agree.”

He stares at me, mouth open in midsentence for a few seconds. “You do?”

“Absolutely.” I pause, feeling my love for my sweet fiancé grow exponentially once more. I watch a million thoughts play over his face. “What is it?”

“I was thinking maybe we could give people the option to donate to charity.”

I nod vigorously. I’d had similar thoughts myself, actually. “I was thinking maybe people could donate to the American Cancer Society or to St Jude’s. Maybe we could find a few more options, try to support as many causes as possible without spreading it too thin, but I definitely want those two.”

He keeps his face carefully schooled, not showing much emotion, but I can see him swallow heavily. “Yeah?”

“If that’s okay.” When he doesn’t say anything, I hurry to add, “Maybe it’s too much. I just thought donating to cancer research would be…” I trail off. I don’t know if I can say it. I know his dad didn’t technically die from cancer, but he was being treated for it. If his father had it, that would make Josh more prone to have it, and the thought of that nearly makes me lapse into catatonic schizophrenia. Anything I can do to help find a cure to ensure my fiancé or God forbid our future kids don’t get sick, I’m all for it. The St Jude’s thing…well, I know that didn’t really apply to Josh and his family when his sister died, but there are a lot of kids out there who get sick and need help and…I want to help them too.

“It’s okay,” Josh confirms, though he’s starting to look misty. “Maybe we could set up donations to help battered women or endangered runaways. I mean, if we do wind up having this big elaborate wedding, particularly at the White House, I think we should try to do some good with it.”

“I love you more every second,” I whisper, unable to contain myself.

He shrugs, looking oddly bashful. “I just think, since we’re lucky enough to be in such a good financial position, we should give back as much as we can.”

It’s not widely known, but Josh is a giant softie. He tries to downplay his altruism by claiming it’ll ruin his reputation in DC. He’s constantly encouraging his staff to participate in fundraisers, ostensibly claiming that it looks good for the administration. It does—no doubt about it—but Josh likes that he can use his position for good. It’s never a hard sell to get my staff to join in, either. Josh and I have pictures from probably a dozen different charity walks and runs from the last couple of years—sometimes helping to pass out waters, sometimes actually participating ourselves.

We actually have a lot of fun doing those, for the most part. We can be insanely competitive with each other, lording our personal victories over each other like a couple of kids. Not long after we got together, Josh started an exercise regimen—something about a hot, young girlfriend to keep up with. He stopped using the treadmill as a place for his dry cleaning, he found time to go to the White House gym, and during decent weather, he started jogging outside. I’ll definitely admit to being a fan of what it’s done to his physique, not to mention his stamina. Personally, I’d been doing yoga for some time already, at first to help with strengthening and stretching the muscles in my injured leg, but then because I found I enjoyed the way it made me feel. Josh is a fan of my flexibility.

Naturally, being Josh, he eventually started strutting around, bragging about how fast he was able to run a mile, and because I can’t let him have the upper hand, I had to remind him that I ran track through all of high school and part of middle school, and that I’d actually lettered in it. Next thing I knew, I’d started running again, though mostly because of the crack he made about me being out of shape and unable to keep up with him. Unfortunately, he was right…at first. It only took a few months before I was nearly back to my high school level ability and Josh has been chasing after me since, as evidenced by our race finish times. He’s not pissed at my beating him the way some guys would be if they were being beaten by a girl, but does make him push harder, which, of course, pushes me. The upside is that we’re both probably healthier than we’ve ever been, and considering Josh had open heart surgery not that many years ago, I will suck it up and run as much as he wants to.

“You’re absolutely right,” I finally say. “We don’t need more stuff, and I love the idea of trying to give to others.”

“Some people will probably have something to say about it,” Josh says with a weary sigh. “They’ll probably say we’re trying to make some kind of statement or make the Democratic Party look good.”

I sigh in frustration, just barely resisting the urge to pull my hair; I’m not frustrated with Josh, of course, but with the situation. “Well, first of all, anyone who wants to complain about two people trying to help others will already make the party look good. Second…I just can’t bring myself to care. I’m so tired of people talking about us and bringing us on shows just to ask questions about who showers first in the morning. I don’t want to worry about how our wedding is going to look to everyone else. If we elope it’ll be because we wanted to hide something. If it’s a big ceremony, people will judge us for how much money we’re spending. If we keep it simple, then people will ask why we don’t want to celebrate more. I’m so tired of it. Why do people even care what we’re doing anyway?”

Josh looks a little alarmed by my outburst even as he nods in understanding. “I get it. People care too much about dumb shit.”

“I’m sorry,” I say with a little laugh. “I know you know. You’ve been dealing with it for a lot longer than I have. Maybe I was naïve but I never realized that anyone would care about us being together, especially now. We don’t do anything interesting—we got to work, we come home, we go on business trips—it’s not terribly exciting.”

“You got me and I’m the one with a fansite.” I shudder at the mention of his crazy fangirls. True enough, I found them terribly amusing back in the day, but mostly at Josh’s expense. They’d been fairly quiet for some time until pictures of me with Josh started making the rounds. Those weren’t anything like the pictures I was in during the Bartlet administration, which were fairly innocuous. No, these are pictures that show we’re very obviously a couple—handholding, romantic dinners, slow dancing at official functions. Suddenly his groupies exploded with fury, questioning his sanity and his choice of me of all people, posting fairly awful things about me and where I should go and how I should get there. Granted, there’s a small contingent of fans who seem to approve of me and have even dedicated a page to the “adorableness that is Josh and Donna,” where I can find endless amounts of candid—real and photo-shopped—pictures of the two of us.

But they’re not nearly as bad as the people we know, or at least the people in our small city. Everyone has an opinion about our relationship. Everyone. Interestingly, a lot of the people who seem to think I’m a tramp for living with my boyfriend but not being married to him are the same people who’ve been caught cheating on their spouses, or are at least “secretly” having affairs with staffers. People don’t seem to understand or care that Josh and I were capable of controlling ourselves when I worked for him, even though our biggest transgression would have been that he was my boss—other than that, there wouldn’t have been any real problem.

Newspapers and magazines print articles about us, though usually as space fillers of some sort when they need to fluff it up. We’ve had commentators discuss us on political talk shows, sometimes when we’re there, but usually when we’re not. Somehow, it’s all a Very Big Deal that Josh and I have been “living in sin,” have sinful premarital sex, living as husband and wife while not being husband and wife, as if half the people talking about us haven’t done at least one of those things.

We’re fairly insulated from it, especially since we’re at work so much, and most of the people there have always known us as a couple of some sort and have never given us any thought. No one ever comments publically on our status. Every once in a while, we pique public interest again and they start in on us. We tried to keep our relationship fairly quiet in the beginning, too, and for a while, it mostly worked, especially with a new administration to keep everyone's attention. Somehow, though, people started noticing that we were leaving and arriving at work at the same time most days, and it wasn’t long after that people started taking pictures of us going into our apartment building and suddenly we were on everyone’s radar. It’s a little depressing to be splashed all over the news because of who you’re sleeping with rather than because of the work you’re doing for the country. It was a thing for a while and we tried to stay out of it for as long as we could, hoping it would blow over. We finally had to make appearances on a few shows and answer why we were ruining the sanctity of marriage and what kind of example we were setting. We had tons of research on our side though—about divorce rates and how many of those couples lived together before entering into a legal contract versus those that didn’t. We also had a lot of details—legally obtained, I might add—about the personal lives of the loudest of our opposition. Details such as extramarital affairs, if they’d lived with their spouses before marriage, children out of wedlock, not to mention that many of them were on at least their second marriage. We didn’t name too many names, but we had enough information to counter their arguments and slow them down for a while. We argued over the absurdity of being married before living together, but we knew we weren’t really convincing anyone who already opposed us. The objections will come in waves, usually during a slow news cycle and we try to let it pass when possible, mostly because we haven’t wanted to bring anyone’s wrath down on the administration. I would say that us getting married would finally shut them up, but nothing really seems to appease them, so why bother trying?

“You know,” I say slowly, “it occurs to me that since those idiots are going to talk no matter what we do...”

“You’re not wrong about that.”

“Well, let’s go all out. Whatever it is we decide to do, we should do it as best we can.”

I swear his whole face lights up. “Yeah! What is it that Peter Santos is always saying?”

I cock my head in confusion. “This is a taco/enchilada conversation, nachos?”

Josh rolls his eyes. “Go big or go home.”

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s the nacho thing.”

“Fine—he says that, too, but he says the other thing all the time.”

“I think that’s the President.”

“Donna,” he whines.

“What?”

“Work with me.”

“I’m trying but you’ve lost me. I know I’ve heard the President talking about going big or going home.”

“Yeah, which he got from Peter.”

I open my mouth to debate him, but wind up shaking my head. “Okay.”

“He did.”

“Okay. At any rate, I agree with the sentiment. Let people talk or complain as much as they want to because they will no matter what.”

“I like it.”

“And I think our best option is to talk to people at the White House first and see what they have to say about venues and all that.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’d rather find out what venues are cleared than find one on our own only to find out that half the people we want to be there won’t be able to. I’m more than willing to give up some autonomy of our wedding, as long as we get to do the things that really matter to us, and if it helps to make sure you and a few others are safe that day, even better.”

He leans in, barely able to kiss me around his grin. “I’m all for whatever helps us get married. If it means getting married in the middle of the Oval Office with the entire press corps watching, I don’t care. As long as we’re husband and wife at the end of the ceremony, I’m fine with whatever gets us there.”

I grin at Josh for a few seconds before wrapping my arms around his neck, probably cutting off his air flow with the force of it. While I’ve never had the minutia of my wedding day planned out, I’ve had a lot of ideas about it that I’ve felt pretty strongly about for a long time. Stuff I was pretty sure I’d never be able to compromise on. Being with Josh—and more specifically, being engaged to him for the last few days, has thrown all that out the window. It’s a cliché, but being with the right person makes all the difference. I look at Josh and just want to be married to him. Having a certain cake or people dressed in a particular way doesn’t seem to matter anymore. Even though we’ve already talked about preferring a bigger ceremony to eloping, it still doesn’t matter that much. I’m ready to marry him right now, and it seems the feeling is mutual. The wedding and stuff is going to be more for our parents and families than for us, but I’m okay with that. Like Josh said, as long as we’re married at the end of it, the rest is incidental.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Absolutely no one:  
> Me: *explains every detail of every story to all of you.
> 
>  
> 
> Literally no one asked, but I felt clever when I came up with the title. It’s a reference to Pachabel’s Canon in D, which is pretty popular wedding music. I thought it wouldn’t give away too much of the story right off the bat, even though the interesting part happens right at the beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> Heeeeeey. In case anyone was wondering, I didn’t abandon ship. My life has just been so extraordinarily busy the last few months that I haven’t had time to do much of this stuff. I’ve been working on typing this up for 3.5 months (that’s after having written it by hand a year ago), and it’s been slow going. I’m still working on editing this sucker, so that’s going to take some time, but I wanted to post something. It just felt like it’d been too long. I’ve got lots of ideas for things I want to write, and some more stuff to type up, too.  
> Also, I know this story is cheesy but it’s one of those things that’s been nibbling at me for a long time now so I thought I should write it. That proposal scene has been in my head for probably almost two years. Same with that ridiculous photo shoot at the end of this chapter.  
> Anyway, more to come; just hang tight. Thank you to all the people who’ve left occasional messages letting me know you’ve missed my work, and thanks to those of you who’ve read it without sending messages (that sounds snarky but really isn’t—I just appreciate all of you reading my ramblings).


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